a poem by dane lyn

stardust beneath my feet

I got my hands from my

mother, long fingers,

slender silhouette. now I

am twice as old as she was

in my earliest memories,

hands are no longer mine,

now hers, the only trace of

me is in the small red scar

on my right palm, and a

fading tattoo of a star

between my left thumb and

first finger. within the

whole of these, I am

whole, and I am my

mother. I am the scar from

a ridiculous, clumsy

accident as an 11-year-old.

I am the tattoo that was

gotten during a frenzied

time, a reminder to take

deep breaths and ground

myself to the stardust

beneath my feet.

Dane Lyn (they/them) is a neurospicy, genderqueer, disabled, educator, poet, and glitter enthusiast in a love-hate relationship with Los Angeles, where they reside. Dane has an MFA from Lindenwood University, a ridiculous collection of succulents, and four scavenger hunt runner up ribbons. Dane’s work can be seen in Quillkeepers, Gnashing Teeth, Gutslut, and Imposter. Their debut chapbook by bottlecap press, “bubblegum black,” was released in early 2023 with rave reviews from their mom. They are on social media @punkhippypoet, and most of their published work can be seen at www.danelyn.net