So. After midnight, I devoured an egg

and bacon feast, toast, jam, cans 

of ale to boot memory down, and to give 

myself support I poured ale 

over top of my head and welcomed my kind 

to break sausage and pancakes 

against their hunger. Before light, I chased sleep 

with shots and woke up marooned 

in a fine leather cocoon that boiled off 

my fur to reveal skin so fine it is in love 

with its own sleekness and charm, the skin, 

which loves its newness, its fresh legs,

its hip strength, its nuanced mind; the body 

and I loved everything I ate, and everything 

I ate loved me back, strength came, a drunkenness 

of another kind. When fire returned I knew 

the language and wended into wind 

and ash and listened for my name.

---

Cassandra Whitaker is a non-binary/trans writer from the rural south. Their work has been published in Little Patuxent Review, Kitchen Table Quarterly, The Daily Drunk, & Anti-Heroin Chic, among other places.