1. One rib still aches from Winnipeg:
….not injury, just weathered memory.
2. Hormones sealed in a Ziploc,
….pressed between Saskatoon receipts
….and a rosary
….I no longer negotiate with.
3. A chest discovering its own storms:
….hail where there was once quiet.
4. A voice practicing range
….against land so flat
….it refuses echo,
….demands direction.
5. Pronouns rehearsed aloud,
….like emergency instructions
….no one gives you in advance.
6. A body becoming legible to itself
….somewhere between wheat fields
….and the long, unsupervised sky.
D. Lee is a poet whose work explores queer embodiment, place, and belonging through lyric precision and formal risk. His poems engage landscapes, intimacy, memory, and community, balancing vulnerability with wit. He is interested in how weather, geography, and ancestry shape queer lives and language.
