cosmic clementine

morgan wright

I am a peel stitched (star)
in time, count me in the sequence
of my genetic tapestry.

in winter I hide suns
in my pocket. I peel them
in an attempt to stay
warm. sun
kissed.

instead, I am left
with peels. cold, fibrous, building
blocks of earth—a far cry
from the solar flares I crave.

a peeled sun is the thesis
for the aurora borealis. no matter
how many suns I peel, I still
can’t find the northern lights.

my pockets are full of peels and no matter
how many times I stitch them back
together the warmth
never returns.
the cold lingers and my breath
frosts like a winter
on pluto

a Clementine’s peel, like a sun,
like myself, is another unmade thing
I cannot fix.

if I could stich solar flare extensions
into my hair, sew a corset out of peels,
I’d be the cosmic Clementine
I see in the mirror.

I can’t sew.
It is dangerous to stare
into the sun. it is pointless to ruminate
on fruit.

Morgan Wright is a poet and screenwriter living in Tkaronto/Toronto. Morgan's work focuses on the body as a liminal space to examine the concepts and perceptions of gender-diverse people and their experiences. As an editor Morgan has worked on numerous children’s fiction and non fiction titles as well as adult non fiction titles. They hold a BFA in writing from the University of Victoria. Previous publications include The New Gay Manifesto appearing in Beyond Queer Words 2020. You can find out what they are up to on their website morganwrightmedia.com or their Instagram @transmikewazowski