One Poem by Hy Libre

Trans Day of Remembrance

They put the moon on trial a while back,
on TV. We shouted the charges to the stars:
the murder of sophie,
died while stargazing, struck down
by a blunt moonbeam.

She slipped and fell while looking up, it was said.
Supposedly it was a coincidence that we looked up
and saw the moon well-lit, well-photographed,
cowered into a crescent.
Just like they murder people in the movies
or grope people in the news.

Eventually we settled down.
We became sympathizers,
people who believe in accidents.

But our bodies told us
there are no accidents. People
like us die tragically
in adolescence.
                                We die
like trans people die, not like matter dies,

not from gravity
not by chance
not from light.


It’s Hy Libre! (she/sie/they) Hy Libre is a poetess, dyke, and antihumanist dweeb currently in Colorado. She believes in the destruction of the veil between the real and metaphorical, and in the spiritual power of semicolons. You can find her hawking poems, tabletop RPGs, and works on the limen between them at, or at @bigstuffedcat on Twitter and Cohost.