a morning discourse
to get me through the last day.
she gives in. i win.
when one of her five
desires the same gender
will she change her mind?
families surround us:
single, married, divorced, set–
love makes children grow
not biology.
(we’ve been friends forever now.
we have climbed mountains).
valleys take their turn.
she will judge, blame, point fingers.
i will love, love, love.
a mental illness
keeps his secret behind doors
his goal: expose her
but she’s not hiding.
this stigma needs to end. Now.
no more closets, please
she needs compassion
a face grinning with the truth
not a pack of lies
you see, she’s unpacked
the weight loss feels amazing
and eye-opening
if he could see it
he wouldn’t stigmatize her
rather, open doors
yet whispers bend us,
the burden of exposure
too oft hard to bear
if his berating
bends her toward the bottle now
he’s unforgiven
no handsome smile
can bend me back to his side
may her freedom sing
On either side, dressed in
variations of gray and white fur
(one solidly shedding, the other
in soft tufts of touchability)
they rest their hindquarters against
my hips in hateful solidarity.
They may be the opposite kind,
but too similar in size, too close
in shape and movement, to face up
to the gargantuan monster who lingers
at the foot of the bed, anxious to play
chase with a new set of fluffy toys.
Whenever he puts his mind to it,
he criss-crosses the room, trotting out
of either door in expectant circles,
forcing low growls, angry hisses, and
petulant pea-sized barks that leave him
both guessing and wanting more.
Whether they’re protecting me or I’m
protecting them, the warmth of love
on either side, floppy eared on the left,
twitching tail on the right, makes me
(us) feel right at home in this home
that is (not quite) our home.
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