the DJ wants us to do the cha cha slide.
the DJ wants our claps our stomps our
“cha cha real smooth”—the DJ
asks us to give breath to death and
breathe seething into laughter and stand
a couple feet apart on the laminate
dance floor and turn our insides into
our outsides. the DJ would like us to
shout our father’s name. the DJ
would now like us to shake each
other’s hands blithely. the DJ implores
us to throw out our phones. the DJ
wishes she could remember what color
her eyes are, but looking just reminds her
of those zoo lemurs that always
populate her nightmares. look now,
the floor is shaking with sweated sole.
listen, the speakers are playing that
song always on the tip of your
tongue. the DJ would now like us to
recall the first time we were injured
by faith, would then like us to forgive
faith. it couldn’t have known the bite
of its fangs.
Claire Heinzerling is a trans writer living in Colorado. She writes because it reminds her to breathe.