So Inclined, by Jennifer Angelina Pedro




So Inclined


Jennifer Angelina Petro



Standing by the gold-flecked stream

watching leaves plucked from the trees

in droves by the wind, one cannot help,

if one is so inclined as to reflect on these things,

but notice how much like death

autumn must be.


Perhaps, when the time is ripe,

and the soul is heavy with longing,

and the great wind comes,

it will pluck my soul and spirit

right from the branches of my body

and cast them into the gold-dappled stream

flowing towards the sea.


It’s strange, isn’t it, that during autumn

the air is crisp, fresh, clarifying;

and the light slants in such a way

as to ignite the trees with joy even

as the trees relinquish themselves

to the letting go.


Harvest me autumn,

for the chlorophyl of hope has drained

from my face and limbs,

and seeped into the ground

to nourish the roots and bones

of those who already gave their all,

collect me in your harvest-hands

and turn my despair into gold.






Fragments by Radiance Angelina Petro



Radiance Angelina Petro




I go around

With my jaws clenched.

I notice it now ever since

My right jaw has begun to lock

In rebellion while eating.

At night, my teeth work,

Grinding away at whoever it was

I was never meant to be.





Once I saw the skull of a cat

Hanging on a string draped over a gravestone.

It was left there by some Satanists my friend Kris said—

Not the kind of Satanists today that hang around schools

And share vaguely humanistic guidelines for living—

But the kind that, in the early 80’s, met up in graveyards,

Sacrificed cats, and tried to dismantle themselves

From themselves by way of blood and sex.

I am not making this up.  I have met people

Who live this way.

And if they ever come anywhere near my cat

I will pound wooden crosses

Into their chests.






Whatever it is inside

That says to me, day in, day out:

“Go.  There is nothing here.”

Quieted yesterday.  I am only now

Noticing it, because today

I woke to it screaming in my ear.






Inside the bone,

Living marrow streams,

Holding it all together,

In much the same way

A traveling current of glue

Keeps me from leaping off the world.






Sense of purpose:  Darkness.

Seeing the way ahead:  Gone.

So many things to do: Exhausted.

The few, illusive moments of hope: Untetherable.





Please help support my continuing transition.  Thank you. Radiance <3