Sanctified Dust
a virgin is pure by the virtue spoken from the mouths of old men eyes hungry always feeding with blinking teeth you are pure by a different virtue born into the bonfire of patriarchy forged in the brinepath of tears raised by wolves in suits lived abuses painted as a
Being Her
for our contemporary dance performance I wore my white leopard tucked more convincingly taped more securely all us ladies danced with balloons music and costumes from UP the night ending gracefully while driving in street lights I did not notice something I had been living with it all my life
Being Her
she has only known me as HER my sweet lady friend twelve years older smiles without judgement but instinctively calls me HE is this because? I've had an IV dangling from my pelvis dripping shaping deepening snipping letters from me _ _ M A N and now when she hears
Sanctified Dust
she pointed this out— the mother of our children the one true Church let us know Satan made the name Mormon please use the real name she asks I ask her please use my real gender systematically she demonstrates corporations are the real people
Being Her
while telling me I’m being fake a man boasted he honors his wife by insisting she needn’t fuss with makeup thankfully, he was wearing pants resisting the urge to go fully natural
Letters to my Children
Carl, Sitting, watching the sunset at the pond, with our shoulders touching, something stopped. I’m unsure who is more mirror-like: the sky, the pond, or you. Your stillness made me feel as if all time had been condensed into this. Everything contained. Every sorrow, joy, panic, put to rest
Letters to my Children
Paul, Thanks for joining me at the farm today. You carried those two bags of feed on your shoulders with ease. The new Scovy boys really like you. Next time we will need to bring more treats. I could tell you enjoyed it. The sunlight in your eyes gave it
Letters to my Children
Edmond, Thank you for joining me in my dance class. The mirrors caught your grace perfectly. I noticed you never touch the dance floor. I think the lightness of your heart lifts you, not so much that you float away. A balance between sinking into the earth and soaring beyond
Letters to my Children
Paul, There is a depth to you. A box within a box, within another box. I don’t know what you are protecting, but it feels painful. The pain reaches in the arrows you shoot at me, from behind the walls you’ve built around it. It doesn’t hurt
Letters to my Children
Thomas, I noticed the child spark in your eyes today. It’s never left you. It’s full of kindness, laughter, and a joy for life which turns garbage into cardboard palaces. I’m glad you and Julie are figuring it out. Yes, life is hard. Your words describe trouble
Letters to my Children
Edmond, I missed saying goodbye today, when you rushed off. You had a hop in your step which was like a kiss. I’m glad you are happy! That is the biggest gift, not only to me, but to the world. Your happiness is not ordinary, it’s radiant! You
Letters to my Children
Carl, You have a chair in my heart. You visit it often. We chat. You give me updates on your life. What you've been doing over the years, your worries, your happy moments, your successes. I don't actually hear your words. I feel them. Regardless of