I have managed to resurrect myself from the lecherous grasp of given biology 
    It’s baby blue talons puncturing my rosy flesh
    Fresh out of the jaundiced plexiglass cradle
    To able the bathwater’s bottling and fermenting for a later date 
    If only to intoxicate the susurrus call of the self-destructive son
Sacrificed to rebirth a daughter, giving for him, an adequate apology. 
 
I have theorized that if Tiresias had not detransitioned after the seventh year 
    He would not be half as blind as my numen’s eye
    Blinking limpidly at the patriarchy that I had renounced 
    over the mantic ethers asphyxiating constructs
    Which flooded my tear ducts at the exigency to 
    exit the set corporeal frame that squared me off, 
Off down the uroboric path where the wrath of copulating snakes inspired fear. 
 
I have descended the chthonic realm as an incongruent simulacrum to claim
    A new image as propitiation formed by what was formerly called
    Amputation or even mutilation. Such terms have been expurgated 
    To make way for the necessary, second gestation,
    A transformation consonant with the Eidolon 
Who emerges anew from depths of the Dead, with a high-held head, and no more shame. 

Isabel Grey is an aspiring writer residing in Colorado, and pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing from Western Colorado University. She has been published in A Celebration of Young Poets and The Gay and Lesbian Review. Grey is a woman of trans experience.

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ISSUE FIVE

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image: Jakob Owens via Unsplash