top of page

Iris Magazine 

New Beginnings

Creative Entries

when I wonder if I will be misgendered at my funeral

Kat Johnson

when they pronounce us spouse & spouse

at the altar, my father will raise his brow.

he sees grief as a woman in a tuxedo,

standing beside the ghost of his daughter,

a person who learned to put love

in the hands of someone who addresses them

by their real name.


when they say that we are forever unified by a ring,

a symbol of a promise that a grey-haired alcoholic wouldn’t ever know how to make,

I will pick the rot from underneath my fingernails and bury it in the peace I find knowing myself ——

in other words, shattering his lens and opening my own eyes every morning,

black coffee, oatmilk creamer, and an acoustic guitar that belongs to only me.

bottom of page