Gina Marie Bernard is a heavily tattooed transgender woman. Her daughters, Maddie and Parker, share her heart. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, Best Micro-Fictions, and The Pushcart. Like most people from the Upper Midwest, she says "pop," and her favorite brand is Coke (or ginger ale if she isn't feeling well). She can be reached via Twitter @vixen1724 or at her website ginamariebernard.squarespace.com
GINA MARIE BERNARD
SOUNDLESS
You still can’t know me at all—
how I struggle to climb out of bed.
I stare for hours at cracks in my wall.
The sunniest day, a bitter-cold squall;
thoughts piston like cylinder heads.
You still can’t know me at all.
I phone in—another sick call.
A pattern that is sewn by this thread.
I stare for hours at cracks in my wall.
Bite lips. Relish blood. Become small.
My world filled with unceasing dread.
You still can’t know me at all.
Stand near, you will see as I scrawl
vows to Grief—to whom I am wed.
I stare for hours at cracks in my wall.
Don’t comprehend? I’m draped in a caul.
Intone in a language long dead.
You still can’t know me at all.
I stare for hours at cracks in my wall.