CD Eskilson

Ode to an Anti-Joke

After Patrick Rosal

When I love myself again
            I’ll smell of jasmine
strong enough to turn heads

            on the street. When I love myself
again this girl won’t dance
            through smoke, her gown won’t

chafe my skin. The story of my
            loss is this: I’ve tried to douse
in glitter and be churchlight,

            sway hips like angels do.
I’ve held boys with balmed lips.
            In turn I’ve earned a bloody

mouth, I’ve torn acrylics off
            in backseats, felt the knife eyes
at the laundry folding skirts.

At what point is a body just a bivouac?

There’s a joke about what’s similar
            between a grape and an airplane
I heard once on a date,

            the punchline being that they
both have wings—except the grape.
            If I love myself again

I’ll tell this bit to everyone
            who cannot help but laugh
at something so unfunny. In those

             moments I’ll stop thinking
of the thing I am                      am not,
            instead just watch teeth

glint inside of smiles.

________________________________________________________________________________________

CD Eskilson is a trans nonbinary poet, editor, and educator from Los Angeles. Their work appears or is forthcoming in The Washington Square Review, the minnesota review and Redivider, among others. CD is Poetry Editor for Exposition Review and reads for Split Lip Magazine. They are an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas.