ferry bluff
by niko swanson-brownell
tell me the story again
about the gay men fucking under the trees at the nude beach
birds watching
was it tender,
tell me
was it tender
or raw?
was it raw like
an urgency to be seen as something other than
a question
was it all of those things combined?
tell me again
how the government didn't like it so they set up a fence and put up signs that said
keep out you are not welcome here
how i encountered the same signs,
the same fence
but found a mirror on those iron bars
pretended that going around it meant it didn’t exist
as if my reflection did not shine the light of my fag ancestors onto the very ground here
so i want to know,
whose hands clenched at the slightest syllable and around
the bark of the tree gripping skin and skin and skin
until the red marks raised your own hands onto the bareness
mirroring the tight grip of absolution
as a statement and not a tired uncertain thing
tell me the story again
about the gay men fucking under the trees at the nude beach
birds watching
was it tender,
tell me
was it tender?
niko swanson-brownell (he/they) is a poet, chainmailer, aspiring dairy farmer and mediocre jack of many other trades. his first poem was written at age 5, titled "no more binning". since then they have contributed a number of poems to anthologies, journals and festivals including "fuck isolation", "preposition", and the midwest poetry video fest. snippets of his poetry can also be found on instagram @poetrybyniko. their work follows organic styles, mirroring his main subjects- the natural world. in his free time he enjoys spending time with goats and wise trees, tending to their numerous houseplants and kissing large bodies of water right on the mouth.