Chandler Veilleux
Continental Divide
If a body is a house. If a house,
as a body, is a home. If a home is
a house with a history. If a body is
the history it houses. If a history is
not the same as a past. If a past is
what a body leaves. If a history is
what a body survives. If a body,
in its surviving, grows another body.
If an old body is not a past but a history.
If a new body is just a newer history.
If the space between two houses is
the outline of a body. If that space is
a body which is not yet here. If that body
which is not yet here is a future. If a future
must first survive its history. If a home
must first survive being a house. If a body
must first survive itself. If a house is first
a body. If a body is my first house.
Dear Chandler
WaKeeney, Kansas
Though this now feels like both
erosion and isolate: it will soon
be nourished into epiphany:
I am a cove
of immutable fear.
You are the legend
of a sunken Atlantis.
I know this to be true: the atlas begets
the island: so I am offering you
the only hands I have:
From the rumors
I will salvage your truth.
I will lift you up
off the ocean floor.
Chandler Veilleux is a trans poet and MFA candidate at New England College. Previous publications can be found in Vagabond City, sidereal, and Impossible Archetype.
Malasaña | Hudson, NY| Cargo Collective | Portland, ME | 2021