Vaughn M. Watson


mother in her skin

this dyke on the train has a tattoo that reads:             Hey honey,
it’s Mom. I love you. See you soon in a cursive like a permission
slip’s signature, emblazoned on the ashen skin of her inner forearm.
she reads it every now and then, in her mother’s voice. I read it every
now and then, in my mother’s voice. you read it every now and then,
in your mother’s voice. live on, live on! the mother in her skin.


culture shock

In Pedra do Sal, where the slaves used to party, piss and spilt
caipirinhas make the stone steps glisten. I watch my friend Fabio
lock eyes with a handsome Brazilian, a brown bear with glasses,
then press up against him without exchanging a word. His hand
cradled that brown bear’s bald head as he kissed him with a passion I’d
only heard in song. And just as quickly, they pulled away. Took a
sip of their Rum & Cokes. Just like nothing ever happened.


notes on carrying a bouquet of flowers on the D train

    for Makila Kirchner

 

even I start to wonder where I’m going

bearing a thoughtful
gift or cliché apology

I bring the soft, wet buds
to my face—smell them deeply

Would you hold me
where cheap plastic wrap
& rubber bands meet
neatly trimmed stems?




All the way across
Manhattan Bridge?

Vaughn M. Watson is a New York-based writer, poet, and performer. He has been published in The Common, Tilted House, and Tahoma Literary Review, among other literary journals. His work has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His debut collection, going out & being normal, was the runner-up for the 2025 Press 53 Award for Poetry.

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