Theirs

Alex has
++++panic
+++++++++attacks
+++++this is
+++like
+++++++++++one of
++theirs

I sit in the back
of class
with friends
teacher is talking
about sexuality,
gender identity
after five students
tried writing from
the perspective of
trans characters
I push away,
to disappear
into the back corner

I remember a beach, lit sunset-orange
Alex explained they identify
gender fluid, pronouns they/them/their
juice from our crocodile burgers dripped
on sand, pooled between fingers,
mum and dad cuddled Alex, I said I loved them

now, unexpectedly,
+++++++something’s wrong
+++it wasn’t
++++++++++++++before
maybe
+++++++my cisgender worldview is
+++++++++++++++++++more
++++++++++++++++++++++fragile
++++++++++easily
++++++++++++++overwhelmed
++than I thought

Visiting Hours

Dirty blonde curls dance across
Alex’s forehead as a hot wind gusts over
our table for six. Alex slumps, one elbow
propping their head up as if that is

the only way to avoid face-planting
Nutella-drizzled crêpes, and keeping hair
from the elaborate puff of fairy floss
that tops a sickly pink drink.

We’ve bought flowers—ridiculously happy
looking, showy magenta and yellow.
My other two siblings and I spent an hour
picking out all of Alex’s favorite sweets.

I know Alex is excited to be on day release
from Gna Ka Lun because Mum told me how
they had already decided what to order
yesterday when Mum rang during the time slot

allowed for phone calls. The flowers look wrong
next to the semiconscious Alex adjusting to new
antidepressants, the clean white bandage over
a tiny wrist, the dark circles around Dad’s eyes

and the nervous fear I have of saying the wrong
thing. I poke at my desert waffles and wonder why
last time we made the 40-minute drive to visit
the doors were all locked and we couldn’t even

give Alex a quick hug. It’s starting to get dark
when we pile out of the family’s eight-seater.
We’re past curfew and tears and muck
smear all our faces as we take turns

to hold Alex. Mum doesn’t let go until a nurse comes,
leads Alex away, gives us the lollies and flowers back.

Rhiannon Hall is an English teacher, who has been sharing her love of poetry for the past seven years through a poetry club at the high school where she teaches. She has had poems published in BlazeVOX20 (online journal); Seeking the Sun: Australian Poetry 2012, Central Coast Poets Inc.; Seeking Horizons: SCWC Anthology 2014, South Coast Writers Centre Inc.; and Cordite Poetry Review (online journal). Rhiannon has also published an essay in Axon: Creative Explorations (online journal). She enjoys workshopping her poetry with a group of Southern Highlands poets. Rhiannon is currently undertaking a Doctor of Creative Arts at Western Sydney University.

Photo by Johnny Cohen on Unsplash