two poems

by Ani King



repetitive stress injuries

 

on your way to a funeral & a girl strutting barefoot on the sidewalk with soccer cleats thrown over one shoulder & the impatient twist of blonde hair falling out of her baseball cap & her sunburnt neck & her resemblance to your secret ex-girlfriend from high school &

 

remembering your younger brother’s funeral & your secret ex-girlfriend loading you up with Xanax for your brother’s funeral & more funerals & more Xanax & your secret ex-girlfriend on Oxycodone & your secret ex-girlfriend’s wedding that feels like a funeral & your secret ex-girlfriend only calling to see if you can get Fentanyl & showing up at your house to see if you can get Fentanyl & sending her away & still loving her & sending her away again & maybe not still loving her & sending her away over and over & your secret ex-girlfriend starting to look like a funeral &

 

your secret ex-girlfriend’s funeral &

 

not going to your secret ex-girlfriend’s funeral &

 

the ghost of your secret ex-girlfriend waiting for you at home after this funeral & the ghost of your secret ex-girlfriend sitting at your kitchen table & the faint smell of menthol cigarettes around her & eating dinner with the ghost of your secret ex-girlfriend & kissing the ghost of your secret ex-girlfriend & her fingers in your mouth & the ghost of a Xanax slipping inside you

(i am begging you to)

            let my people go

 

to the grocery store   tripping down the aisles   baby deer in new heels   lips stained pink or red or purple or black   let them be tender as overripe fruit   let them be girls   bursting sweetness   new names plucked from field guides to flowers   baby name internet searches   let them go to the gas station for smokes   condoms   let them drip baby queen swagger   or   let them be boys in love   short kings crowned in snap backs   caped in flannel   taking the bus to work   breath-bound body-packed   swaying around the turns   let them be neither   no not boys no not girls no yes both   let them make new ways to say i             to say you             to say we             let them take a breath   let them keep breathing   let them walk each other home holding hands              not gripping pepper spray            not to another funeral              &             let me go too,            

amen.



Picture of a white person smiling, with short, brown and grey hair, large-framed tortoiseshell glasses like their dad probably wore in the 1980s, and a medusa piercing.

Photo of Ani King

BIO: Ani King (they/them) is a queer, gender non-compliant writer and artist from Michigan. They are the first place winner of the 2024 Blue Frog Annual Flash Fiction Contest, a SmokeLong Grand Micro Competition 2023 finalist. They have work on the Wigleaf Top 50 Long List, as well as featured in SmokeLong Quarterly Review, Split Lip Magazine, Fractured Lit, Exposition Review, Wigleaf, and other terrific publications. Most recently, Ani has been awarded a Monarch Queer Lit award, with work coming soon in Best Small Fictions 2025, Bath Flash Fiction Award Anthology, and Best Small Fictions 2026. Their first full collection, Family Night, is forthcoming with Mason Jar Press in 2026. Find them at aniking.net, on Instagram as @aniking_author, or on Bluesky as @aniking.

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five poems