These three poems by Zoe Korte pay a vivid homage to queerness through the lens of domestic scenes in nature…
by: Zoe Korte
They could not make us mothers
We bought her from the cat café
Read her profile, coaxed her out
And pretty much knew right away
Our firstborn daughter voiced her doubt
Opened up her throat to sing
“I think I’d rather go without”
But she was just a little thing
The need for which had been alluded
By the predecessor’s languishing
Her demeanor meek, her colors muted
Do tortoises even make a sound?
But her sister is noisy, undisputed
Our household is full with her around
A family of four instead of three
No blood between us, each one found
Her furred breast against my knee
Her shaved belly along my furred shin
They have robbed you, you are free
A Taller Tree
The trees emit a lenten dew
of tilapia and frankincense.
The sylvan lake begets a briny brew
of algae foaming up to rinse
a black rainbow of oyster shells.
Our star, with its departing glance,
burnishes a thousand hills,
pink as bark bursting with ants.
The forest holds a miserable relief,
possessing all the accidents of wine,
save for those whose sole belief
is in finding a taller tree to climb.
Finale
I am ponderous but svelte,
Like a marble antelope.
I clothe you in my language
With glyphs of intrepid joy.
Whatever fear you felt
Now sublimates to hope.
You are voluptuous and sanguine,
At once woman and boy.
No matter what is dealt,
We determine how to cope
In an alchemy of anguish
To make Lavinium from Troy.
Zoe Korte is a queer and mad poet whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Roi Fainéant, Maudlin House, new words {press}, Room, The Quarter(ly), and elsewhere. They have earned degrees in English, Spanish, and Ancient Greek from the University of Missouri. They live with their partner in St. Louis, where they work for Sundress Publications and the Missouri History Museum. You can find them on Instagram @zoekpoetry or Bluesky @mostlymosspoetry.
