I watch the way my dad eats
his peach— unashamedly,

right down to the prickly core.
That’s one thing I’ve always admired:

his lack of concern
for how others perceive him.

Channeling his nonchalance,
I work my shirt over my head

and walk towards the crisp Acadian water.
We are experiencing rain-like fog. The park

ranger says, these are just dew droplets,
they will not be classified as rain

until the diameter of the drops increase in size.
Up to .5 millimeters, “standard rain classification.”

Has anyone ever lost themselves
in this and emerged anew? Anyone

other than a trans person? Since we lost
ourselves at a young age, before

the blur of going under and waking up
with a surgically modified body

that adds ten years to our life.
Low tide never seems to be at the right time,

but that doesn’t matter
when collecting reasons to stay

alive. Does everyone worry
about growing up

to be like their parents? I’ll be like my dad.
Bushy eyebrows and choosing clothes for comfort,

but I’ll always leave
a little of the soft fruit

around the pit.