Ewan Hill

Ewan Hill is a trans queer poet living in Northampton, MA. Their work has most recently been published by the American Academy of Poets, Slamchop, and Slamfind. Ewan is the co-founder of Pulp Slam in Easthampton but their day job is at a children’s library where they smile at babies, professionally.


My trans body fathoms safety as a house w. an old gray armchair


& a whale painting over the stove

& the bed is untidy

& my friend stops by unannounced w. ripe apricots

& they lean on the bannister

& we talk about the weather, not what it is, what it lets loose inside our throats,

& they leave right before we tire of each other

& there are fresh cut sunflowers on the kitchen table

& an untorn screened porch

& a climbing tree, the exact one from my childhood

that my parents cut down to keep it from crushing our house

& the violent gender binary doesn’t fucking exist because we cut it down

to keep it from crushing our house

& I have never been misgendered, not even by a sweet

old neighbor a mile down the road where our mailboxes

sit side by side beneath a eucalyptus tree,

not even by the well-meaning mouths

that love me most as they try

& try

& try

& my sadness still rattles sometimes

& when it does I wash my face

& put on all my blue sweaters (there are so many blue sweaters)

& my breasts are a sacred neutrality, buzzing

in the fabric, peaked against the dying husk of autumn

& I sit

& watch the moon w. my cherry tomatoes in the garden I planted w. someone kind

& I shake my head at the good dirt, my overgrown city of earthworms

& I sigh

& I pray

& god is there in the booming weeds

& I ask them    if I want something hard

enough, can I drag it from the ground myself?


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