when i think of it, i think of luggage packed full of damp towels, of the moisture caught underneath my shirt. i think of tarnished metal, muted orange-green, of the smell of rusted iron, the half dried red in the curl of my fist. i think of babies and yellow phlegm, of the baby that is sobbing inside of my chest, and my chest, perforated by exits. and when i think of it, i think of tonsil stones and runny yolks, i think of my yolk, red and thick, hurting and open, the exposed slit. and when i think of it, i think of running, as far away as possible, scrambling over rocks and skinning my knees on cracked sidewalks, and how i want to hurt and how i want to spill and how i do not know how to want anymore.
yolk
Till Kallem, Ph.D. (they/them) is a transmasc biochemist from San Francisco who currently lives in Liverpool. Their poetry explores the tender and brutal moments that accompany queerness and otherness in young adulthood. Their work can also be found in The Broken Teacup Department, Adult Groceries, and Corporeal.