In my world, “she” is so much bigger than a binary gender. She is inclusive, she is monstrous in the best sense. She is the light and the dark, the male and the female and all of the in between. She is the collective, she is the unruly and untamable, the misfit, the beast, the maw, vagina dentata, the teeth bared and gnashing and churning all the meaning perpetually. She is spectacle and terrain, vast geography and hidden cave. She is intimacy and caress and fight and battle. She is heroic and hand outstretched. She is unknown and unarticulated, the possible and the always forgiving. She is the cosmos. She is folds and the space between, what’s underneath and squeezed and stretched but never breaking. And I am wary that I am connecting myself to her, that it all sounds ludicrous or wildly poetic and thus manic. That I’ve been reading too many books and these are flights. And maybe this is all just a piece of comfort, these tricks of lines. In my fantasy, I do have power.