|The 2River View||28.1 (Fall 2023)|
I’m a poet, which is to say which is to say
This is about me. I tell the class of thirty—a workshop on writing post-sexual assault—I am the speaker of the poem. They The Speaker this, Our Speaker that. I am them, I say. Nobody speaks up. Without looking, the instructor mutters shouldn’t you finish counting your teeth? The class shuffles into their bags, having forgotten the assignment, one by one, yanking the remaining teeth from their mouths. A young boy in the back applauds, stands up on his desk, cranes his fingers over his head, and twirls like a spun spinning top. He must think he’s a ballerina. He must think it’s a celebration.
|C. Heyne is a genderqueer writer from Sunrise, Florida, and resides in Hoboken, NJ. He is the recipient of the William Morgan Poetry Award and the author of my room (and other wombs) (Bullshit Lit ‘23). His poetry appears in DreamPOP, HAD, Maudlin House, Sundog Lit, Taco Bell Quarterly, and elsewhere.|
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