wildscape. literary journal

In advance of apocalypse
by Camille LeFevre

people I know 
	are changing 
		     names, pronouns, genders, 
	bodies 		   in expression 
of true nature. 

As we’re acquainting, the writer asks, 
scratching the itch to specify, 
 “Are you queer?” I am 
	    unfazed     	— (so relieved, at that) finally
knowing I am only desert 
	    expanses 
of red dirt, sandstone cliff, heat-
cleansed sycamore, cat paw
	See how
		      red crust ridges my chest, thirsting
			           to be watered;
		      crevasses carve my chin, deepening 
			           with rain;
		      wind washes my hair, swaying 
			           skeins of bark; 
		      sun waxes my skin, peeling 
			           periderm to bone: My toes 
		      lengthen and curl, 
		      lengthen and curl,
			           making biscuits in the air. 

As we’re swimming, the girl child wonders, 
tapping bristles jutting from my arm, “Something 
might be living under there.” I am
	      delighted	       — by (her knowing) creatures 
		           inhabit 
whole biomes on and beneath 
the skin are landscapes 
of the neither nor, the any all
	     See how 
		          in advance of apocalypse, 
			               none of this is camouflage;
		          only bodies erasing difference, 
			               species becoming nameless now,  
	     in adaptation, in expression 
of one true nature.

about the author // Camille LeFevre