dyeing
By Kolbe Riney
When I tell / you of loss / the first time, / I am dying / all the fabrics / in my home / indigo- /
blue. / How like steam escaping / the boil, / how like seam / escaping the thread, / my thoughts
on leaving / you behind. / So this is why / I always add / the water, / swirl the ash / until it says
keep / back: / I cannot be held. / At high temperatures, / I find myself / turning all / to salt. / The
cotton / takes the color, / hands / me violets, lilacs, / plums: / slight changes always / to the ask. /
Burns / me to say, / am I like this to you? / Am I salt-fettered tissue? / Am I above / telling her
how / we danced until you fell / for pupils / slowly unraveling / a dark hole / in the waves / of
time, / about the way, / shimmering, / we birthed a whole / ream of silk? / Tell her, honestly, / I
could turn a planet / into satin / if I wanted. / Tell her how / I stroke mercury / on my tongue. /
Tell her I transform / by reaching / into water / and pulling men out again, / and tell her / if I
wanted, / you’d be drowning, too.
Kolbe Riney is a queer critical care nurse from Tucson, Arizona. They are a Best of the Net Nominee and were shortlisted for the 2021 Sexton Prize with their manuscript, “mythic.” Their work is featured or forthcoming in Watershed Review, TinderBox, Passages North, Lunch Ticket, and others. Find them at kolberiney.wixsite.com/website