Robin Steve

(transition as) times i almost decomposed

as mosquitoes                                    a forgotten dark sliver in the canopy     more poison than
                                                              blood streaming through my veins     my body so hot     my
                                                              mother said     it almost glowed

as ostrich meat                                   that my father     made us eat     i regret     nothing more    
                                                              than eating speed on land     as if it was nothing     but a

as lichen                                                i turned     into dust     to try and be     algae     & fungi    
                                                              & a mirror for insects     to be used     for everything     that
                                                              needs     to be built              

as sea lettuce                                      sticking on the soles of my feet     often     picked up    
                                                              & held     against the sun     to see    its lack of veins
                                                              sometimes     shredded like tissues     rarely     deep fried &
                                                              crushed     between teeth

as pigeons                                            whose corpses     i almost stepped into    more times that i can                
                                                              count     their necks bent     at too acute angles     i  meet
                                                              them     on every street     as if they were dropping     from the
                                                              sky     instead of rain

as someone i was not                         is sleep really that similar to death? asleep     i have been    
                                                               everyone     and someone else: a woodpecker     a cowboy    
                                                               a werewolf     even a sea storm     even     my past self

as deep deep purple                            could rot     ever bruise? could it ever match     my skin    
                                                               when i press     fingers into flesh     and let them sink     too
                                                               much     hoping     to reach     deep     within     the soil    

like when in summer the asphalt slightly melts and my thumb can feel hot softness giving in


Robin Steve is a trans queer poet and researcher. They live in Dublin, where they are pursuing a PhD in creative writing. Their research, funded by the Irish Research Council, focuses on the intersections between trans poetics, trans ecologies, and trans temporalities. Their poetry has been published on Honest Ulsterman, Abridged, and Impossible Archetype. They are a member of the Trans* Research Association of Ireland (TRAI), which you can find here. You can find Robin on both instagram and twitter at: @robinsteve189.