After Maggie Nelson
Sat on the porch last night.
The sky was brighter
than night should be, lit up
with city and smoking. I sit here
drenched in my impulse
to get rid of myself, suddenly,
without warning. Last night
you told me soft things,
sang me to sleep, slowly, quietly
voice shaking. Kissed my forehead.
And I guess there is a capacity
for this same lightness in me. I know this
because once I bleached my hair
until it burned white and thought
my outsides look like my insides.
It was nice to see them, a bright white
chemical moon but smaller,
Ashlan Christensen is a writer and teacher living in Denver, CO. Her work can be found under Ashlan Runyan in The Boiler and soon in Sidereal Magazine. She works primarily in essay and poetry.