Unlike some, I gave my name

to myself. Like the ocean

giving waves to the land

or the bow-shaped stars

of Orion. I have been naming

myself my whole life, have been

the shadow of a forest and how 

its trees cast a greater darkness

on the night. I have been peaceful

and the disrupter of all things

the breaker of the silent

promise to keep what isn’t mine,

what was given and not

received. Those few letters

an utterance and a shaking

of the earth, something no sky

would wish upon you. I have been

plucked from nothing,

made one with God, my self

laid out like a redemption.

I have listened to the call

of sunlight and tree-roots and air

moving like a borealis over everything.

Moving closer than cells, closer

than love. I have found

and will find my name.

Like how the orange wears itself.

Evan Murtagh (he/him) is a bi, trans poet from Birmingham, UK. He holds an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Birmingham, and his writing explores the intersections between ecology, queer identity and faith. His work has previously appeared in The Purple Breakfast Review and Constellate.