If Asked to Name My Queerness

by Florence Walker

I’d call it feral, call it screaming. Call that counterfeit. I’d call it eyeliner-and-earrings. (Not like that.) I’d call it tar-black resolution. I’d call it unheard growling. You can call it touch me do not leave  me. If you want. I’d call it carcass of my straightness. I’d call it ribs, tatters, smoke. I’d call it a voice. I’d  call it in my voice. I’d call in our voice. I’d quiet my voice. I’d plug my voice. I’ve called it knives. I’d call it dirt and drifting. Those are opposites. I’d call it like a dog, or lover. I’d call it hair at the base of their skulls. I’d call it words. I’d call it nowhere else. I’d call it no-name. No-name is a name. I’d call it to their faces. I’d call it in my throat. I’d call it a question.

Florence Walker was born in Norfolk, England, in 1997. She studied English at St Hilda’s College, Oxford, during which time her work was published in the 2017 Mays Anthology. It has also appeared in Acumen, Evocations, and The Weekly Degree. She is a poet, literary critic, and LARPer.

 

Photography by: Ava Sol