Written by Rachel Gorman


Zoboomafoos’ been dead for years, these are his children before they are gone too

ash falls off the tip of my cigarette and floats down
                                                                                               down
                                                                                                                  down
from the sky
arm hair growing in soft (like a lemur, spiral grey and black)
if it was a boy, don’t you think the ash would be
blue?
pink, of course, for a girl