Breakfast Beetles
for Ray

In your hometown, I feel your body drift
to surf and sand. We discuss gender
fluidity over chai. I ask for iced, so you change
yours. Not a bad idea on a day like today.
I lay my new pronouns out on the table
like metallic Christmas beetles catching the light.

You watch them jitterbug over your hands, admiring
their details—the colours they reflect.
You say, Gender is supposed to evolve with us
cause of course it does. Our avatars are as fluid as the warm
belly of a cocoon. I don’t think you know it yet
but you give me permission to float
on the currents of myself where I used to spectre
the shallows, a shadow craving form.

I have never felt guarded around the multitudes
of you like I do with most people.
I try to give you something back, even if it’s only
shouting you breakfast because I love
shouting the people I love breakfast.
You accept it gladly like a Christmas beetle
—a gift never out of season. 

About the author

Sean West (he/they) is an Autistic poet, support worker, and workshop facilitator based in Meanjin. Their debut chapbook is Gutless Wonder (Queensland Poetry, 2023). In 2023, Sean was runner-up in the Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize. They are the founding editor of Blue Bottle Journal and work for Ruckus Slam Brisbane. Find more at www.callmemariah.com. 

Image by John Vossen from Pixabay.