“All Seventy Dollars” by T. Dallas Saylor
Back when we were married, I couldn’t get it up, still a little red from the Ace bandage. How does it feel? asks the hawk patrolling the sun. I compliment its lace feathers, thin mesh, gold earring stud. Like an old Chevy’s rear window, I tell the hawk. Bigger models, collarbones boasting top brands, a black bed with vertical ribbing tied tight—I wander out into an evening too cold for May. We’d agreed to use the dregs, but how do I say I love it? Peel the straps & pronouns, patrol the elastic sand tracing the damp shoreline. I crave the water like a birthright. Meaning: make my body look like a body—please God, just for a few hours. The common mountains form immortal silence. My heart is no less cosmic.
Dr. T. Dallas Saylor (he/they) holds a PhD from Florida State University and an MFA from the University of Houston. His work meditates on the body, especially gender and sexuality, against physical, spiritual, and digital landscapes. He is the author of one poetry collection entitled Starfish, published by Glass Lyre Press in 2025, & his work is on Twitter: @dallas_saylor. He currently lives in West Virginia.
