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August 5, 2023


Jill Kitchen

once i was a woman who knew how to ride a horse through arizona desert who wore a black cowboy hat that belonged to a ranchhand who tied a man’s blue workshirt above jeans above tanktop let my hips sway into the meander and trot of a red-haired horse by creekwater who knew how to lean forward on mountain climb to lean back into saddle on the descent who could hold on with the gallop of hooves the speed of dust and heat hitting against my face against animal flank who was dunked in a horse trough by cowboys my biker boots my hat and all once i was a woman of body who could strut in those same boots down city streets now i cannot find my way back into this frame shaken by this desert of autoimmune a fight against the very bones and between that carry me when doctors failed i sought the wisdom of others to heal to seal me back into this skin one woman told me it was an alien possession not illness while the new yorker in me smirked and readied to leave she said it’s actually quite common they want to learn more about us i’ve had enough of being an experiment of being studied in a trough

stars give me back my swagger