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