From the Anthology
Breaking the Silenceby Dana Kiefer
I look at my knuckles
following the contour
of the steering wheel
and see how they look
like the teeth of gears.
something to fit in place
and turn to produce an
answer to my questions.
a skeleton key
for my soul’s room.
When I was a child
I once thought I was
a machine. Some alien
thing, built and put in
this body as a disguise.
Put in this body as a disguise,
for some forgotten purpose.
An infiltrator, a sleeper cell
Waiting for a coded message
to relieve this incongruousness.
This dissonance. Pulling
my pieces out of bed to
the mirror and feeling
my skin and hair and
hair and frame.
Running my hands over a
face that already felt too rough.
It was as if these clumsy parts
were just a shroud, a screen cast
over the glowing core of my self.
I wanted to pull myself apart
just to prove it,
even if it killed me.
let me throw away the ribs
and finally breathe.
If I truly was a machine
I would know
that it wasn’t a mistake.
If I was human – well,
I’d need so many more answers.
Author Bio
Dana Kiefer is a 27 year-old non-binary trans woman and poet who has lived in and around Cleveland her whole life. She studied poetry and English literature locally at Case Western Reserve University. She often thinks about the perplexing nature of identity. Her poems often tackle themes of mental health, the self, and queer life in a Rust Belt city.
Pre-pandemic, Dana could usually be found at The Side Quest trying new drinks, knitting, and performing at Let It Out. After the pandemic, she would like to visit all the best record shops and restaurants on the west side with her loved ones. Dana is extremely thankful for all her friends in the community who have built her confidence and kept her moving forward.
