self-portrait as nothing
before i was named
close to a real man
i performed my lack
black hole blank spot gone
not light of dead stars
tampered crime scene of
obscured memory
gendered antiquity
forgotten trinket
i pretend sparkle
abandon glitter
search for me back then
woman i was not
easily definable
like a numb throat
splatter ink blot splotch
in the space between
this empty body
post-obsolete sex
in pre-op junk shops
mistaken ornate
in lieu of good light
for shades of the dark
you’ll find me missing
t4t
because when my partner / undresses for the first time / i'm undone / i'm envious of their earrings / biting their lobes / they spread their legs, & i gasp / i have fasted for more than a year / but here, right now, i feast / their hand guides my head / i swallow them whole / their clit overflows the fountain in me / i empty of any language / that is not their name / i am wet as a last-penny wish / let me drown here
because when i touch a body like mine / i trace familiar lines / fingers on my girlfriend’s throat, her back / bent into crumpled bed sheets / we meet in erotic symmetry / linger close, graze / skin, we tease, ease closer / i teach her to be a good girl / like me / i lick cum from her belly
because mtf4ftm / mtf4nb / mtf4mtf / mtf4nb4mtf / the ways we codify desire
because once, after sex, i pluck casey plett from a lover's bookcase / the novel gifted by their california girlfriend / that's a word we don't use / yet / we're low commitment, casual / until the night in the hospital / the nurse asks how they know me, why i'm there / holding their hand as the anesthesia kicks in
because i run into my ex-boyfriend's / boyfriend at the bar / he's read my book / he's six months on t / he tells me about the first shot, how his boyfriend / administered hormones in his thigh, a syringe pulled / secreted in a bedside drawer / where once i stored my cpap / this, how we share ourselves / share meds / share beds / share secret shames whispered / after taking too many shots of tequila
because trans people ask / questions about my life / besides / why?
because when i see another doll in public / there's a fugitive recognition / we acknowledge and don’t acknowledge / we say / i like your hair / i like your dress / i like the way you know something / about who i am / without me asking / i like how / you don’t ask / we’re like sleeper agents / pronouncing words in a language / not spoken to another / in decades
because when i met my girlfriend / i didn’t know right away / we sat next to each other / at dinner / for a friend leaving town / she kept dropping hints / until she told me / she too gave away / her good flannels to transmascs / she later regretted her charity / when she came out as a dyke
because maybe we're all slow to connect the dots / to construct some version of ourselves / that makes sense / of scattered notions of gender / trans once a word i avoided / & now a title i aim to gift / to anyone / who needs a way / to talk about how language mangles / their body in translation
because i feel / for maybe the first time / a sense of desperate familiarity / when i read the forums / when i read nevada / when i read archived zines / when i join the group chat / when i listen hard to stories that mirror mine
because sometimes, when trans women are in public together / we're more visible / to those who might harm us / & sometimes / i wonder who is looking / wondering / if we are like them / if they too might be happy, laughing, comfortable / like this
because i wouldn't know how to explain / to someone new / that i startle / when a balloon pops / because i've spent too many nights / reading obituaries / & news stories / i worry what the bouncer will say / when he sees the wrong sex on my id / what if someone clocks me? / what if it's someone with a gun?
because i've been in enough support groups / to know it is a miracle / every time / a trans person emerges / from that first year / alive
because once / my spouse told me / i'll love you / no matter what your body becomes / they tell me / your body becomes more gorgeous every day / your body belongs to you / you belong to me / you belong with me
because the first night / i met my spouse / they knew / they tied my hair in a ponytail / i'd been growing it out for two years / they called me pretty / i blushed / strawberry ripening red
because when i come out / to my parents at o'charleys / on a monday night / the waitress asks / what will the birthday girl have? / my partner squeezes my hand & doesn't let go / because i'm scared to be seen so plainly by strangers / my family / friends / coworkers / when i tell my parents / i can’t stop sobbing / long enough / to explain myself / they tell me / we know
because family is reimagined as a coven / trying to make out of our bodies / a kind of magic? / to make the beautiful, brutal landscape / into home?
because the space that feels safe is no place / it is people who know my name / is mine / to choose
Evelyn Berry is an angry, horny, sad, transsexual, Southern poet, performer, editor, and educator living in South Carolina. She’s the author of Grief Slut (Sundress Publications, 2024) and the chapbook Buggery (Bateau Press, 2020). Her chapbook T4T is forthcoming from Small Harbor Editions in 2026. She is the recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Poetry Fellowship and South Carolina Arts Commission Individual Artist Fellowship for Poetry. She is the winner of the BOOM Chapbook Prize, Button Poetry Short Form Contest, Dr. Linda Veldheer Memorial Prize, KAKALAK Poetry Prize, Emrys Poetry Prize, Broad River Prize for Prose, and other honors. Her work has appeared in dozens of journals, including Beloit Poetry Journal, Raleigh Review, Moist Poetry Journal, Gigantic Sequins, Longleaf Review, Taco Bell Quarterly, and elsewhere.
Photo credit: Marcelo Jaboo