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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