Gwen Stacy's Knee Socks

 

This poem is part of an ongoing series-- Cosmic Keystones: Objects that Inform My Femininity. 

 

 

 

II. Gwen Stacy’s Knee Socks 

 

are in my back drawer, behind

a crumple of too-loose underwear. 

 

She left them three years ago, and I didn’t have the heart

to tell her. She never asked. 

 

On the nights I deem too cold, I pull them up 

my thighs with a snap against each leg. Creeping

 

outside, I sit expectingly on my front porch 

ready to feel the transformation of my own anatomy 

 

like adding a chunk of crystalized salt to pitchers

and watching the meaning of water change 

 

and cloud against the drinker’s face. 

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