June 27, 2021 (part 2), or: on Pride

i’ve been involved
in many a Pride:
marching in the parade,
spectating,
only coming for the afterparty,
staying late,
leaving early,
volunteering,
forgoing because of work,
forgoing because of travel,
forgoing because of emotions,
huge Prides,
tiny Prides,
side Prides,
marching,
listening,
shouting,
chanting…

i’ve been lucky
to learn
beforehand
what i needed to know
to appreciate
each message,
each Pride.

i was introduced
through friends,
chosen family,
strangers,
the internet,
leaders,
who really was Marsha P. Johnson,
and i listened to Sylvia Rivera call us all out,
i learned of the sit-ins,
and the die-ins,
Act-Up,
papier mâché,
the quilt,
what Leather Daddies
and Dykes on Bikes
gave to the communities,
Stormé DeLarverie,
and so many more
i’m still learning about,
and even more
still unnamed
still faceless
who gave me the right
to fight for others’ rights
today

and i hope we continue to march,
that instead of forgoing Pride for comfort
we forgo Pride for Queer Liberation,
or at least include Queer Liberation
inside our Pride.
that we continue to march
for Black lives,
for Trans lives
for Black Trans lives
for a free Palestine
for disability rights
for a Pride
that supports us all;
sans cops
sans rainbow capitalism
supporting what Pride originally stood for

(not because i want to go back,
but because we really cannot go forward
until we are all truly free.)

June 1, 2021

just remember, folx,
in this epoch of rainbow capitalism
that wearing your Pride is encouraging,
exciting,
exceptional,
try (if you can) to buy queer-made
so that our money funds our community,
and so that the big businesses know
they can’t obfuscate our memories
with shiny color spectrums;
we remember when they funded hate speech against us,
(and we know they have never formally apologized,
just realized they could take our money as well as our humanity
at the same damn time),
and we know the true meaning of Pride
is against the man
against the machine
against the culture of conformity.

our ancestors fought hard fights
for us to live out loud today.
let us honor their memories
by fucking with the system
that holds anyone down.

April 30, 2021

staring at this blank screen
trying to come up with the poems to write today
the concepts flowing in and out
thinness
and queerness
and how they intersect
body dysmorphia and dysphoria
(words i get so mixed up
because they are near equally balanced in my mind
and while they are two stems
they seem to bud into the one same flower),
and how these all intersect
but i’ve thrown a rib out of place
and i am spending a little too much time concentrating on
keeping the ice pack where it needs to be
even while my cat shifts her weight around on my lap,
and trying to pay attention to what positions i’m in
when the pain gets to a bit of a crescendo,
and apparently these are the things that my mind needs to concentrate on
not making the next great queer poetry collection
so…there’s that i guess.

[life]

September 5, 2020

when one is used to long long car trips
four hours feels like nothing.

and when hours and hours and hours of driving
usually requires an audio distraction,
shorter distances can be all conversation
(and you can fall in love all over again,
even without first falling out)

July 7, half-heartedly edited July 21, 2020

On my rooftop I see:

1. a green tree across the street
2. a match to the folding chair under me
3. a pigeon, hopping on the next roof, its eyes as red as the
4. red brick apartment across the road
5. a treeline, it might be the park?
6. a metal fence, so I don’t fall off
7. this private rooftop terrace, that my privilege helped get me
8. satellite dishes from DirectTV
9. a/c units sticking out of 6th floor windows
10. clouds and a flash of what may be a rainbow
11. my rainbow hair blowing in the polluted wind
12. no sign nor sight of a way to make this poem end
13. sounds of busses, bodega music, wings flapping, construction; scents of the laundromat around the corner,
and wind, so much wind, against my face, feeling a chill on this hot New York afternoon, perhaps//

a loud boom, a bang, was it from the west or the east?
i strain my neck over the gate, and the only answer i see
is the smell of the garbage truck, stopped on my street.


i have so many unfinished poems written
but not the stomach to stomach the rereading.

June 28

our walking tour of the historic sites of stonewall and gay Greenwich Village
was postponed, likely to be canceled, without notice
for a Lady Gaga concert scheduled to begin
in seven and a half hours

and if that isn’t the perfect metaphor
for the commercialization and lost history
of Pride

i don’t know what is.

June 25

in the morning
a downpour
hair soaked
from under a hood
in seconds as we
rush across the same street twice
trying to predict our Lyft driver’s
street familiarity

in the afternoon
too hot
for anyone’s comfort

(and we thought the rain would cool the city off)

in the evening
a hella-queer rooftop concert
as the sun sets
lavender
and
baby blue
over the NYC skyline

May 26

(the end of a trip)

things we will miss:
-walking everywhere
-IncaKola
-how quickly coffee is made

things we are excited about:
-our own bed
-seeing (and cuddling) our animals
-a warm house
-being able to fill our entire lungs
-long hot showers
-bagels
-feeling safe enough to be gay together in public.

May 20

when coming to Machu Picchu
many people call it a
‘bucket list trip’

to be there

to hike the entire Inca trail

it has also been called
‘a professional photographer’s dream’

and

‘spiritual’

but what happens when the busses
splattering mud
spewing diesel
cart tourists up and down that winding mountain road
all day long?

are we really experiencing something fantastic
before we die?
recording in image the beauty of long ago?
connecting spiritually to the past?

or are we simply a cog in a (money-making) machine?


how much of our respective ‘esposos’ can we talk about
and laugh
before the commonalities become apparent
and our wedding rings begin to look too similar?

(on homosexuality being illegal
but not necessarily punishable)