Late Blooming Queer Girl By Laura Mayron

Late Blooming Queer Girl

I knew I was queer when
and when I saw
and I had this crystalline moment of

There is no one moment,
because yes, I saw her hips grinding
blue and pink lights into dust
that September night
and I walked into class
to see a girl with a circus tent
lovingly inked between the valley of her shoulder blades
and I looked at my childhood best friend
like she was magic,
but there were endless
conjugated into this-will-end-soon
phrases of suspension,
moon phases of this-can’t-be-right.

But like I tides I hungered toward
too many,
that man with melting eyes,
a girl who was more garden than anything,
and I knew I was queer when
I kissed them and him
and they both kissed me,
two midsummers in the midst of February and
I fell into a purple static haze
of one ecstatic swell after another
when she told me she loved me that first time–
just thinking of any of this I can’t

By Laura Mayron


Laura Mayron is a graduate of Wellesley College and was born and raised in Maui, Hawaii. A queer poet, she is pursuing a PhD in queer, surrealist Spanish literature at Boston University. While at Wellesley College, worked for three years as the poetry editor for The Wellesley Review. She has won Honorable Mention in Gival Press Oscar Wilde Award and Wellesley College’s Florence Annette Wing Prize for Poetry. Laura has been previously published in Vagabond City, Gravel, Glass Kite Anthology, and Whiskey Island, and ArLiJo (Arlington Literary Journal). If she could go back in time, she’d have a drink with Spanish surrealists.

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