During my last year in Boston, I flirted
with everyone. Baristas making my matcha,
co-workers at bookstores, friends of friends
at birthday parties, exes in the Common.
I was so determined in my longing. I rewatched
a girl’s standup set over and over because I wanted
to be just like her. I started wearing leather jackets
and Doc Martens, using messenger bags,
smoking Marlboro Reds, listening
to A$AP Rocky. I wanted to be from New York
instead of Pennsylvania. I wanted to be a professional
dyke. Once she made me wet just by smiling
at me. Once I quit a job because none of my co-workers
smiled or acknowledged me. On Marathon Monday,
drunk Boston College students call me a faggot
on the green line. That night, I listen to Lucy Dacus
use female pronouns in her love songs for the first time.
When I’m home from college, my mom’s friend says faggot
without flinching. He says words are just words.
They can’t hurt anyone. A month later, an ICE Agent
calls a gay woman a bitch seconds after murdering her
in front of the woman she loves. She wrote poems
just like me. I used to walk past Sylvia Plath’s
old apartment in Beacon Hill with a girl
who wrote poems about me. Now we don’t speak.
We speak separately to our friend who grew up
in Atlanta with parents she couldn’t confide in
about her relationships. Now she is in love
in Madrid. I hope she stays in love forever.
Professional Dyke
Annalisa Hansford (they/them) is the author of Romanticization of Grief and Ghosts (Bottlecap Press, 2025) and Banana Pancakes (Rockwood Press, 2026). Their poetry has received honors from the Academy of American Poets and the Boston Mayor’s Poetry Program. They’ve studied poetry with Gabrielle Calvocoressi and Victoria Chang. They previously interned at the Grolier Poetry Bookshop in Cambridge, where one of their favorite poets, Frank O’Hara, used to frequent.