Sure

I spent six months
Writing love poems
About my best friend
And I’m still not sure
If I’m actually gay.

So long
Cringing at every “miss” and “ma’am”
But obviously I’m just pretending
To have no gender –
No binary to rest in.

I don’t think
It’s actually doubt.

I think it is the body’s last defense
Screaming,
“Are you sure you’re sure?
Because this shit is hard.”

Because another trans woman was murdered today.

Because there will be jobs you won’t get.

Because there will be people
Who block your path
Just so they can be the ones
To tear you down

There is nothing
More liberating
Than putting on a dress
For the first time,

Than first time
Someone you love uses
Your correct pronouns

And nothing
More terrifying
Than realizing
How much
It will cost you.

I’m sure.
And there are still days
I wish I wasn’t.

I’m sure.
And I still wonder
How much easier it would be.

I’m sure
I want to die
In the arms of my beloved
And let her tell anyone who will listen,
“They lived unapologetically.”

Insomnia

As I lay awake
Ruminating
The Goddess strokes my hair.

“There there,” She says,
Singing me a lullaby of lightening bugs,
A symphony of stars.

She gathers up
The past that haunts me
In Her calloused hands,
Weaves it into
A meadow of wildflowers
And gifts it to the Universe.

“Thank you,” I murmur,
My eyes finally growing heavy,
Tear-stained cheek
Sinking into Her forgiving love.

She hands my gratitude back to me,
Stardust pressed into my palm.

“It’s just what mothers do.”

Meditation on Faith

I know the Universe hears me
She has never forsaken me before
And I have no reason to believe
She will now

I know my prayers are always answered,
My intentions always heard
I have every reason to believe
She will match my vibration now

I already have Her favor
My highest good
Is always being served
Even when the winds of change are still

Even when the fire needs tending,
When hopelessness is
A reasonable temptation
I know the Universe hears me

I know my prayers are Hers
And all of creation is moving
In grace and synchronicity
To their answering.

May it be so.

Making Dinner During the Pandemic

Alternate Title: “The Lucky Ones”

I ordered a pizza
Because I was too tired to cook
From working at home
From being home all day.

They cancelled the order
Because there were not enough drivers
And I can’t even be mad
Because there’s a fucking pandemic.

Because we have leftover pasta
That I’m not excited about
But will be just fine,
And meatballs made with crushed up Cheerios
Instead of breadcrumbs.

Because I’d already started making them
When I realized we were out,
And breadcrumbs
Are not essential enough
To justify a trip to the store.

I heat up the pasta
Because I am just too tired.
Because my child
Colored on the walls
While I was on a video call.

Because I cried three times today,
Or started to,
Then stopped,
Because there’s a fucking pandemic,
People are dying,
And we are the lucky ones.

I open the refrigerator
And a quarter-gallon of milk
Mocks me,
Reminding me
That I’ll have to venture
Out into the infected world again soon,

That I’ll have to don my mask and gloves,
Call the only friend I allow myself to see
To stay with my child
So I don’t have to take them with me.

I made fun of a woman once
For wearing gloves to grocery shop
When I was sixteen scanning groceries.

The sixteen-year-old
Sanitizing shopping carts last week
Should be finding a reason
To make fun of me,
Not choosing
Between shallow wartime valor
And poverty.

We sit down to eat
And words spill out of me
As I begin to write,
My child picks up a piece of chalk
And begins to color on the wall
But how can I be mad
When there’s a fucking pandemic?
When people are dying?
When we are the lucky ones?

Usually,
I tell someone at least once a week
“There is no hierarchy of suffering.”

We are the lucky ones.
We are still suffering.

And I am so tired.

Comfort Me (A Prayer)

Mother Goddess,
Lay my head
Upon your chest,
Stroke my hair,
Caress my cheek,
Whisper prayers
For my healing
Into every weeping wound.

Hold your faith in me
In the heartbeat
Against my ear,
Rock me to sleep
Singing the cosmos’ lullaby,
Wishing me
The sweetest dreams
And easier battles
To fight
Tomorrow.

So mote it be.