beyza ozer would like you to know that you are made of moon dust. beyza’s work has appeared in & is forthcoming from The Offing, Pinwheel, Vinyl, Nightblock, Witchcraft Magazine, Shabby Doll House, & others. beyza is the author of FAIL BETTER (fog machine 2017) & I DON’T MEAN TO REDSHIFT (Maudlin House 2016). They are deputy director of social media at YesYes Books & a co-editor of the journal inferior planets. beyza lives in Chicago where they attend Columbia College, work at the feminist bookstore, & intern at the Poetry Foundation.



Most of the time I am too tired to do anything

Most of the time I’d rather just connect the dots on your back

& this isn’t true,                         but warm weather makes me feel less & less uneasy

each spring                         that reminds me

Hurry up, we’re dreaming

We don’t have time to change into our pajamas / even if we had pajamas / we don’t / we have skin, though / the only thing that won’t follow us after we die / don’t worry / we’re dreaming now / & we will meet again / on a baseball diamond at the park next to your old house / in a room with no windows & endless light from our favorite city / I will be okay then & so will my mom / she leaves the city lights on when she knows I can’t sleep / her sadness always standing in the corner / right now my pockets are empty / I’m begging you to fill them with some type of sand
            or dust

I promise             I won’t be able to tell the difference. You meet me where it is possible / that space between the universe next to the one we used to be in / the flowers & light / after all these
            minutes / you hold me

My body turns into what it was meant to be / before the moondust billions of years ago decided otherwise / & I’ve forgiven her by now but I still cannot sleep / there’s just always that /       light

Isn’t this weather nice? Are you okay?

You meet me where it is possible. It’s soft, first. But then we start to press.

july 17 2015

Honestly       I’m just dying all over the place. /////////////////////////// the only comet an imperfect shade of brown. Mountaintops too blue & too far /// away, trying every morning to jump over the moon, asleep / she’s asleep / the year my mom spent in her bed & the morning she wasn’t there

I ripped the sheets off her bed & hid them under mine //////////////// the hospital / the sheets were rough, hard / everyone was dying     more brown. I’m tired of washing my hands.

I light up anyway / miles from where my anneanne’s tulips grow. Even farther than Halfeti
      the blackest rose won’t grow anywhere else / I’ve never seen anyone

Eat a flower /////////////////// I’ve never felt one die in my stomach / a flower. I’ve felt myself dying. My stomach makes no sense. Or my chest. My pronoun       is flower & pollen fucks up every throat / it’s not hard to skydive / just jump when the man says jump.

mashallah as the sky kissed my cheeks & I fell. I want to go home.

tangle in the street lights on Istiklal caddesi where my grandfather walks alone every night / forgetting the bombs & gunshots though I never can. He loves the lanterns.       go home, dede, lütfen. Mom’s city lights already wake me up every night.

When I see her eyes       yours glow too / both tired & mine / well I’m a flower, senin çiçek. No stomach or chest / alive & pretty when I want to be

iyi geceler       /       you too       /       canim, salaklik yapma         /   i’m sorry for asking.