3 poems by Devon Rae

Collage by mona fani

Conversation With My Eyelashes

The place where you touch. Your delicate lines. My fine dark arcs. You flutter and float.
Grant wishes. Give warnings.

Conversation With Her Body

Not the mirror of mine, but still glassy and bright. I could drown with her mouth on my mouth in the rain-slick night, on her library floor, among cellos and swords. Blossoms perfume the air and beer glints off our lips. Her alabaster fingers pluck at my chords, leave ghostly impressions. Sink me, I whisper. Each touch is like lightning – I’m struck and struck out. 

Conversation With My Left Leg

You snapped when I was three and then grew longer than your right twin. Now I am oblique, askew. You are thin and long and lithe. “You are all leg,” they sometimes say to me, and I imagine you are all I am, the supple stroke of you, arcing, bending, propelling me forward.

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Devon Rae (she/her) is a queer poet from Montreal who now lives in Vancouver. Her work has appeared in Canthius, Arc Poetry Magazine, and elsewhere.