Hayden's Ferry Review

dani putney's two poems

Graceina Samosir

 If I Remain a Boy

I won’t grow into you.
My hands will be      too small
      to wield your paternal violence.
   I don’t want to write
your violence because it re-
   traumatizes me.
            I need to keep
this part of my story
   to cope.   My weapon
      is obscurity. It’s funny

 how I have words
   to describe what my body
         remembers, but I wish
      my body were a future, not
  a past.      No diagnosis
or therapy can make me
forget.   If I remain a boy,
      I also have your love, not
         the possibility to reconcile
      after it happened—

 I became me,
               a scarlet   F- A- G,
   & then you died.
If our history is an it,
that means I can store   us
      within a folder      deep inside
      my amygdala labeled Old
   (Do Not Use)
.   I know
the label is a lie, but at least
   I control it.

            That I’m your son,   here.
            That I love you,      here.
      My story gets to be
      an archive.   In the outside,
I really became a boi,
      i
inserted into myself,
   a slant of light you’ll never see.
      I don’t need you
         when I’m a genderless   sun.

I learned to be a liar
because of you. In the end,
      you won:      Do Not Use
   written across my skin,
      a narrative      in motion.
         I’m a fool to think
I can file away      your haunting
            when what my body wants
            is you, kissing my forehead
again—   a boy’s—   just like before.

Siopao

Braised, not grilled—
how my bones will be cooked
upon death.      I’m a combo
covered in tattoos
         & chicken skin, the result
of moist volcanic lava
dipped
                  in Great Basin salt.
Before my birth, there were sea
-ways connecting Cebu
                     to Guangzhou.
      How do you think
   my mom was born?
Sometimes I wish I could lick      off
         the latex of Ma’s memories
            to get to the tsismis.
Rumors:      the only currency
      I share with family.
That         & our love
                  for pork buns
            whorled like the whirlpool
         of my self-destructing body.
   All I can hope for is a good boiling
   to infuse my corpse
                        with spice.
I come prepared for my ancestors,
      whose bellies
      will show me truth.

—————

Dani Putney is a queer, non-binary, mixed-race Filipinx, & neurodivergent writer originally from Sacramento, California. Salamat sa Intersectionality (Okay Donkey Press, May 2021) is their debut full-length poetry collection. Their poems appear in outlets such as Foglifter, Gulf Stream Magazine, & Hairstreak Butterfly Review, while their personal essays can be found in journals such as Cold Mountain Review & Glassworks Magazine. They received their MFA in Creative Writing from Mississippi University for Women & are presently an English PhD student at Oklahoma State University. While not always (physically) there, they permanently reside in the middle of the Nevada desert.