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Olivia LeBlanc |
"My work as a queer and neurodivergent poet often draws from the forgotten and unspoken aspects of humanity and nature. Growing up in New Bedford, Massachusetts—a town steeped in the history of the Whaling City—has deeply influenced my writing, as has my time spent hiking and foraging in the forests and wildlife preserves around Boston.
In my poetry, I strive to create a safe space for readers to explore thoughts often left unspoken, find connection in shared experiences, and feel a sense of freedom from societal pressures. "
Private Love
I love my body in private,
though I’m too proud
to address her by name.
I sit with her in our favorite positions.
We arrange ourselves
in the way only we can—
comfortable,
sacred.
On our own,
she is mine, and I am hers.
I welcome her like perfect bathwater;
she welcomes me like a reaching child.
I’m not sure anyone would understand
what we have
when the shades are drawn.
But I can’t help but wish
we could exist this way
beyond the curve of my driveway.
Bell-Tower
I wish to be in that Boston bell-tower.
I think it’s high enough to promise me safety—
my responsibilities left on the stairs,
with each city-scummed footprint.
But not without a fight.
They stick and pull at my shoes,
like the pale grey chewing gum
spotting the city sidewalks.
They cry out to me,
the terrible cries of damned souls.
But don’t they know
I don’t need shoes where I’m headed?
When I reach my end,
my beginning,
I know the cool breeze
would temper my bones
and smooth out my goosebumps.
The pigeons would pluck the pins from my hair
and place a crown
of iridescent feathers on my frizzy head.
I’d watch from my arch, the flecks of people
and their shoes,
lifting and pulling,
lifting and pulling.
