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Two Poems by Rachel Tanner

Leave the Light On


Thank you for loving me

even when I was easy

to love.


Did you think I was going to say thank you

for loving me when I was hard to love?


I am not

hard to love. Neither are you.


This world is built on the wonder of

people who make space for each other


despite everything.

Despite ourselves.



No Use


If this isn't god, I have no use for him. Hands

weaving into hand weaving into stories

weaving

into me.


Babe, did I ever tell you that story— yea, yea,

I probably have. I've probably told you

every story by now. But, see,

when I take a piece of my you-less

past and pluck ya right down the middle,

suddenly things sound a lot more interesting.


Can god tell me stories

that make my toes curl? Can god

stare me down from across a

crowded Walmart and instantly know

the color he'd chosen was awful?


Can god tell me why every time I look

at the sky, I see ground, and every time

I look at the ground, I see sky? I am

upside-down. I am right-side-up.


I am all.




 

Rachel (she/her) is a queer, disabled writer from Alabama whose work has appeared in Peach Mag, Feed, and elsewhere. She currently writes three monthly-ish columns: video game poetry in Videodame, Taylor Swift poetry in Headcanon Magazine, and movie poetry in For Page and Screen. She tweets @rickit.


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