Poetry
[ Kira Córdova ]

A North American Former Vegetarian in Austral Summer

The tofu press clouds
crush all the moisture
from my porous, soy-
based body until
it runs into my
boots and overflows
as blisters and head-
-aches that collect
in the sunburnt gutters.

Seat Selection

The man in the middle seat must not know / I speak some Russian, or must not care. He / shouts
into the potholder of airwaves / finger knitted with navigational / sensors until the second
airborne bump / about work, a girlfriend, Miami while / beaked cherry picker trucks spread
antifreeze / on the wings, crowding the plane like plovers / on a crocodile, shake can parakeets /
spreading orange snow cone syrup I wonder / if it would smooth down my leg hair or coat / it
like dirt when I run, like dusting for / fingerprints, but the book on the unsolved / Shenandoah
murders in the seat back / pocket differs since evidence lifted / off bodies outdoors disintegrates,
hair / or no femme or buzz cut or no, and I / wonder if I should start waxing when he / stops
scrolling through women’s fitness inspo / and stares at my unshaved tattooed legs / out of what,
disgust? attraction? I’m safe / until they meet is that why I wish I / looked like the girls on his
instagram like / a comment “красивая 🍑🔫” could save me?

Kira Córdova is a writer and sometimes tall ship sailor from the great seafaring state of Colorado working on an MFA in Nature Writing at Western Colorado University. They have poems upcoming in the anthology Anger is a Gift from Flowersong Press and are the editor of a collection of their grandmother's poetry: Carma: How It Is.