Little Damages

by travis tate

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Expressed in finality, the little breath afterwards, 
& what is left is white, a blank canvas, 
marched across the body’s temple, 

I wince but after a few more moments I’m clear
— to make a bridge against my ample discomfort. 

More than not, you like everything I do, 
which comes as a shock to me: 
shit, marrow of the bone, bloody nipple.

& the weakened sky, wet, looking down on the scene,
I remember something that only happened a few days ago 

& I smile so quickly that it throws me off-guard,
it lifts whatever part of me that is known for genuinity,
lost 

or, pushed down — 
god, the little damages we do to ourselves in defense 

of the feelings we collect in the dark, 
a window closed all Saturday afternoon. 

I want to be a guide for my future self, 
a wild body but slick with measured movement, 
your small hand on my knee 

in the park 
of our death.

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travis tate is a queer, black playwright, poet and performer from Austin, Texas. Their poetry has appeared in Borderlands:Texas Poetry Review, Underblong, Mr. Ma’am, apt, and Cosmonaut Avenue among other journals. Their debut poetry collection, MAIDEN, was published on Vegetarian Alcoholic Press in June 2020. The world premiere of Queen of The Night happened at Dorset Theatre Festival this August and will have another production at Victory Gardens Theatre in January. They earned an MFA from the Michener Center for Writers. You can find more about them at travisltate.com.