Billie Sainwood
Villanelle from a Trans Woman to her Ex-Wife’s New Baby
Look to this woman and feel blessed.
Your mother is a wind, a bellowing welcome.
When you meet her, you will know.
Even as we parted and as I transitioned
she was patient. She held me in front of a mirror and said
“Look to this woman, and feel blessed.”
Your world, little one, will be made of purring lions
of protective teeth and soft fur
when you meet her, you will know.
No matter what, she is gentle.
Her every step will be a sunny shadow of your own.
Look to this woman and feel blessed.
When I think of the woman who, most of all,
I most want to snow angel my shape to.
When you meet her, you will know.
Your mother, little one, taught me to love,
taught me to write, to fight, to cry, to build.
Look to this woman, and feel blessed.
When you meet her, you will know.
Sestina for the Trans Women Watching Silence of the Lambs
CW: gore, death, blood
We are still holding hands
in the coiled dark
and waiting to take a breath
holding it hostage in our mouths
letting it fidget against our blood.
She turns and smiles.
The flickering screen lights our smiles.
I kiss both of her hands
and apologize for all the blood
and the basement and the dark.
She shuts both of our mouths.
She doesn't mind we are meat and breath.
After credits, the bedroom holds its breath.
It rumbles to swallow our smiles
in a dark as warm as our mouths.
There's violent beauty in our hands
we can only show in the dark.
I am a wound. She forgives me my blood.
Our lips are harloted in blood.
There is giddy murder in our breath.
We are night-vision goggled in the dark.
We are photographing our smiles.
She puts her soft life in my hands
and a cloud of new moths swarm our mouths.
We make little sounds with our mouths
and wear each other's skin, slick with blood.
Our misunderstood seamstress' hands.
This hurt comes as natural as breath.
The FBI crimes of our smiles
smudge our fingerprints inked in the dark.
We can be who we want in the dark
Buffalo Bill our tight lipped mouths.
We are women lost in our smiles
that flutter like moths made of blood.
The night has been holding its breath
waiting to see what we do with our hands.
She smiles at me in the dark.
Our hands reach out like carnivorous mouths.
We are women made of blood and held breath.
Billie Sainwood is a poet and writer from Atlanta. Her work has been featured in the The Passionfruit Review, Don't Submit Magazine, and the NoSleep podcast. She keeps a diary of her inspirations and neuroses online at https://billiewritespoems.com/.