Wren Hanks

Dear Ozma,

We never wake up in each other’s arms, the stained glass striping our chests. I’m not a
convincing man, Ozma. If you’d only watch these lovers put their hands inside me and enjoy the
girl they get.

I ache for the way you blocked doorways to make me touch your ass. The way you’d scratch my
head. My pussy was your freaking treasure island, Ozma. Now you’re the one who thinks I’m

I shake the glitter from my eyelids into your lap-- this offering. This offering that’ll do nothing to
dissuade you.

Wren Hanks is a trans writer from Texas and the author of Prophet Fever (Hyacinth Girl Press) and Ghost Skin (Porkbelly Press). His recent work appears in Best New Poets 2016, Gigantic Sequins, Drunken Boat, decomP, and elsewhere. His third chapbook, gar child, is forthcoming from Tree Light Books in 2017. He currently lives in Brooklyn.

Return to the Current Issue