In seventh grade
I was notorious
for having chickens
in suburbia.
I couldn’t stop
thinking about the sun
expanding
into a red giant.
I saw myself consumed
by a star.
Two boys cornered me
in the cafeteria
and asked
if I had a cock.
I had a chicken
who laid eggs
and crowed
at the sun.
In seventh grade
I didn’t know
the riddle my body
would become,
how every time I bleed,
I need to scream at stars,
I am not a girl.
Ren Wilding earned an M.A. in Literature and Gender Studies from the University of Missouri. Their work has appeared in Bellerive, The Outrider Review, Cactus Heart, Trans Love: An Anthology of Transgender and Non-Binary Voices, and Braving the Body. They were a finalist in the Comstock Review’s 2022 and 2023 chapbook contests and winner of the St. Louis Poetry Center’s 2023 James H. Nash Contest.
Image: Backyard Chicken, Schodack Landing, NY
Pine Hills Review 