by Rosie Accola
My gender is the salt on someone’s lips after they cram an entire slice of salami into their waiting mouth like it's the flesh of the holy ghost. It’s Tony Soprano astride on a horse, or actually a Soprano’s summer (khaki board shorts, Prozac, dodging panic attacks, and lead
My gender misses giardiniera. My gender wants to dip a beef sandwich into lake Michigan
until it’s soggy, salty, and one with the earth.
Queer intimacy is each link on a glimmering dyke chain,
Tanktop, no bra.
Nipples standing at attention like Lassie:
WHAT IS IT, GIRL?
Is it hot in here,
Or is it just me?
Rosie Accola (they/she) is a queer guido, editor, and writer based out of Michigan. Their work explores how reality t.v. functions as autofiction and the intersection between pop culture and poetics. They graduated with their MFA in Creative Writing from Naropa University in 2022. In 2019, they published their first poetry collection, "Referential Body" with Ghost City Press. You can find them on Instagram @rosieaccola.