by Taylor Kirby

There is no word for what you
are, so let the two of us invent
a new language, one where syntax
spins like a hurricane and the word
hurricane means aquagalaxy or
suffuse light or whatever syllables you need
to settle on your tongue with the weight
of a pill that is designed
to make you feel differently
than you have before.
Like any thesaurus, ours
is a choose your own adventure
book composed only of beginnings.
To be orphaned is to have a common definition
of grief. To be estranged is to be
tethered to a language
no one can hear you speak.

Taylor Kirby is a writer from Denver, Colorado. She is the managing editor at Porter House Review, and her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Longleaf Review, Jellyfish Review, Pithead Chapel, Atticus Review, and more.

Artwork by: Valeriy Andrushko