Two Poems by Jonathan Kinsman

how to walk on water

since 2007, at least twenty detached human feet have been found on the coasts 
of the salish sea, though instances go back more than a century

you’ll need the appropriate footwear, 
                               usually a sneaker —

                                     a vaporfly for the long-distance runner,
                       or perhaps a pair of air jordans,

       — but in a pinch, 
                 any old hiking boots will do.

                                                    trust them to hold you
                                            tighter than yourself

                      and begin to empty the body
                  from your body.

the water chooses the destination —               
    a head rolls onto the isle of whithorn;

           a weathered femur with its vinegar tan
                            buried in the sand of new south wales;

                   long island is a favourite for torsos
         tattooed with peaches and cherries, 

flesh taking notes
                from the coconut, 
                                               conducting trials for
                                                          propagation by sea

               — but it’s the feet that make shore most 
        often and increasingly frequent,

cradled in a memory foam insole,
                          as if the act requires

                                                         diminishing faith.

on the electrodynamics of moving bodies

to return from the dead requires absolute darkness, so we, slavish creatures of conventional physics, seal the door, go home. and you go nowhere, a fixed point to our travelling, your electrons fallen marbles decelerated to zero. it is impossible to hold this nothingness in our minds, so we call it unknown, assign it a continuous loop, figure it as a cross mark in our summations. the light knows nothing of what it leaves behind, cannot change direction, travels a fixed course pushing infinitely onwards until that sudden stop in which it scatters, illuminates and we are seen, particles of dust caught in this momentary radiance, beings of pure time. let it unwind, the universe unravelling, entire planets loosed from gravity tumbling in free fall through endless space as a finger trails through chalk, unbalances the equation, erases to undo this mistake. to return from the dead requires absolute darkness, each of us trudging toward tomorrow, all hope lost.

Jonathan Kinsman (he/him) is a trans poet living in York. His poetry has appeared in many anthologies and journals, including Anthropocene, Butcher's Dog, Fourteen Poems, Poetry Wales and Under The Radar. His latest pamphlet Genderfux, co-written with Jem Henderson and JP Seabright, is available now from Nine Pens. His full collection debut will be published by Broken Sleep Books at the end of July. Find him online @manykinsmen