Colossal Love
One about where to grow old together. Another about where to put the remains when we’re gone.
Calling You Baby
I missed the two-way mirror of us—
I missyour Alabama
to my Louisiana, your Texas
to my Florida
I missour bellies pressed flat into an embrace across who needs a blood pact
when we have the morning my chihuahua slid across the kitchen
I missfloor, as if she were Bambi on ice
I missand not fifteen—a too-large heart they
I misstold us as earnestly as if we were parents
A waitress said Baby, are these your sunglasses to a grown man at the bar
where I picked up crawfish
I missit made me think
of sticking around longer across so what if I start calling you Baby
Baby I’m always thinking of you Baby, wish we coulda been kids together
Baby, let’s make this work, by which I mean
I misslet’s keep being too queer
I missto end up together
I missbut end up together regardless, against all odds
is my favorite Phil Collins song anyway across let’s grow old somewhere we can steal
is my favorite Phill Collins song anyway acrossstemware and get away with it, let’s carry
rescue dogs around in handbags across let’s name them after rollercoasters
let’s teach them to perfect the three-card spread
let’s teach them to perfect the let’s promise
let’s teach them to perfect the let’s pinky swear across let’s quench and waste nothing let’s stomp
let’s teach them to =and crush everything across let’s secretize where we’re headed
only you would have a topographical map of Italy
lodged in your backseat, oil from olives
lodged in anointing the trunk
let’s teach them to perfect the let’s pinky swear let’s ghost the world
You must know by now I’ll never call your bluff
I misswe skipped this part last time so
You must know by now I’ll never call I’m making this
goodbye count
your grip so tight heart it’s telepathy
misseit’s your heart tomissemy heart
missein the night
You must know by now I’ll never call our pact of seeing and being seen is a haunting
The crushing sound of our ribs against each other’s seeing and a Texas thunderclap
missewe were supposed to love like this, babe—Colossal
Instructions for After Death (Recycle After Use)
"Well now sorrow, it comes a-stealing."
—Nick Cave
I. Hair
Clip away the shimmer of strands
the verisimilitude of silvers painted
like jewels, plumage that matched
the flare and flourish of male birds
fetch and release those fibers,
sprinkle them between the folds
where treasures are sought
and aid the small who need
more than tuft and moss
to incubate from the cold
I had so much heat and color
—let them inherit both
II. Guts
I hear the organs stay on dry ice
I saw inside once, they dropped
a camera through my navel
which I learned is called umbilicus, a portal
to a cavern where my fat was glossy
clementines, I know now
what I have to offer so give these organs
a round of applause and then another round
III. Bones
Cremains have the texture of coastal things,
I could do no worse than reassembly: my bones
boiled and bleached, a Halloween of the soul,
a medical school prop—I am here
thinking how they are held together
with little silver pins
My bones are eager for a homecoming:
above ground in Louisiana, a state
always on the shoreline of its own demise
coffins floating down flooded streets? Fine by me
About the author
Rhienna Renée Guedry (she/they) is a writer, illustrator, and producer whose favorite geographic locations all have something to do with their proximity to water. A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee and 2022 Tin House Workshop alum, her work has appeared in Muzzle, Maudlin House, Gigantic Sequins, and elsewhere. Rhienna is working on her first novel. Find out more about her projects at rhienna.com.