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  • Trae Stewart

Judgemental Elephant

By Trae Stewart

I see you,

Positioned on the dusty rose window seat,

hidden among kawaii pillows and frilly curtains

You stare, my neighbor’s stuffed elephant

Without movement, pulse, breath

Eyes fixed, a never-changing mass,

Ears fanned, stitching like wrinkles,

Stagnant, you serve little purpose

Not without purpose, a basic aesthetic

One glances, appreciates, and moves on

The interaction doesn’t last

deep but lifeless, your eyes,

Half-inch obsidian circles, glaring

With my own less distinct reflection

My eyes meet, in contemplation

My dark circles, unwavering in my window seat

Emulsifying my soul into the strokes of ink,

To enliven paper like blood to tissues

Do my words sway? Fill the reader, as porridge in children’s bellies?

Is there life, beats not of meter, but of the heart with my imagery and imagination?

Is there pause for the tears to reach the smile?

Your trunk points, a middle finger or exclamation,

judging, reminding

Waiting, for electricity, magic, or my simple letters

To blink, boogie, and exhale,

in a poem

About Trae Stewart:

Stewart is an emerging queer poet and psychiatric-mental health nurse practitioner. He writes poetry to center and ground himself so that he may best help others. Trae is a widely published academic researcher and seasoned educator.


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