by Benjamin Rhodes
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
coagulates in a Tide detergent bottle.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
has been silver and drawn blood.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
was followed by a bandage,
admission of open wound.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
I bought at a pharmacy, often
pleasantly, often not.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
has been at least one inch long.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
required patient self-talk before
my outer surface let it pass.
Every needle I’ve stuck in my thigh
carried highly controlled substance
in its mouth.
Every needle spit almost-amber liquid,
watered-down honey, in the red and hidden
muscle of my standing bits, my running bits,
the parts that make me move.
Every needle I’ve chosen to stick in my leg
changed my chemistry, grew hair, thickened
vocal cords like folded steel, strengthened arms
and broadened shoulders so that I might lift
myself more easily, so the load assigned me
lightens over time.
Benjamin Anthony Rhodes is a queer and trans poet living in Northeast Ohio, where he is a poetry candidate for the NEOMFA. Born and bred on the bayou, Benjamin hails from Louisiana and earned his BA in English from the University of Louisiana at Monroe. His work can be found in Biscuit Hill, Freezeray Poetry, Sidereal Magazine, and elsewhere.