Zipper, Exposed
Unzip me, love.
I’ve built these walls of cashmere
and ponte wool,
recreated my world post-her
with ruffles and ribbon.
Black and white and teal
with fabric tiers and fraying tears
and loose buttons covered in words.
I boxed everything and left it
at her door, started over in these
pearls and chains.
But my seams are plain as ever,
you see my hiding.
I bear my zipper – pull the ribbon
and live me again.
A Future
Uncertain
Except this
Sitting as I do now
Before my computer
Writing, or maybe
Waiting for the words
Brown hair messy against the back of my head
Although I like it neat
One strand curling
Frizzing
Against my cheek
And she, faceless
Nameless
Presses against my back
And strokes that wandering strand
Away
I wrote this back when I was making phone calls to promote the Employment Non-Discrimination Act and meeting all sorts of people. Nothing is as important as tolerance.
Spatially Challenged
From the station of the Metro
14th street lies map-flat
but 13th climbs sideways and up
dizzily – a man in a parka
sells incense off a wooden table
with vials of colored water –
the wide-faced girl says “I’m a tranny”
but she’s officially a woman these days
with a bloody vagina.
In this place I check my eyeballs at the door
and grope for secrets as first
impressions.
I have a bloody vagina, too, so what
does that make me?
