Say your deadname five times
into the mirror. Behind the glass
you fog into horror. The story
always needed the mirror
as part of the fear.
It needed something to reflect
you, the only real
ghost. That she gave herself
a woman’s name was incidental.
There’s blood. It’s your blood.
It’s in the sink on purpose,
pouring out of your eyes, of course,
and Mary clicks her tongue. Mary
lifts your head and kisses your cheek.
She asks kindly if you want her to.
You say your name one last time.
Wristbent slasher film turns
boybot into bricked processor.
Call this a wetware update.
Replicant gentleman on tile
floor, investigations would call it
inconclusive, schoolgxrls will call it
haunting. You will not be here anymore.
You get to walk out of the crime scene, salted
chalk outline sealing a corpse
full of broken promises. You toss
out your can of shaving cream
on your way out. You kiss Mary.
Nora Hikari is an emerging poet and Asian-American trans lesbian based in Philadelphia. Her work has appeared in Small Craft Warnings, Feral Journal, and Tealight Press, among others, and her poem Deer-to-Fish Transition Timeline has been nominated for the Best of the Net award.