83 Comments
⭠ Return to thread

I've been poetically a bit stuck recently and have been letting the prompts pile up! Boo-hoo! I'm still only partway through my exercise with "heart," but here is a poem about a choice I was faced with recently.

.

The choice was nothing: pushpins

and a foam board, a simple XY graph.

I was to plot my pulls in two dimensions:

cis-trans on x, straight-gay on y.

.

Mine was the squarest of squares,

I knew that much, minus-minus

in a Cartesian system, but

that wasn’t the exercise,

the exercise was to roam

my continent of self

and map the patch that stuck my shoes.

.

The gallery was empty.

The exhibit wouldn’t open for hours.

I had so much space to decide.

.

My quadrant winked at me

like the Great Plains

before people,

.

and remained untapped.

.

Thirty years since church

and still, when it comes to queerness,

I have the inner world of a quilt:

thick batted layers, stray fluff,

no answer bold enough

to raise a contour.

.

The room filled up

and so did my quadrant,

but not as much as you might think.

The plane has changed –

it is less flat.

How fitting that our kids

should have introduced

the z-axis.

.

To push my pin, I finally

resorted to math.

Here I am in purple,

a few millimeters north of

southwestern cis-het.

.

It was a nothing choice.

It is a start.

Expand full comment

“Roam /my continent of self / and map the patch that stuck my shoes.” I love this!

Expand full comment

This is gorgeous, Rebekah! I've missed seeing your poems lately and I hope all is well with you. 🧡

Expand full comment

Thank you, A! I'm good, just mad busy and I think that's been disrupting my poetic flow a bit. I've also not been spending as much time as I want to in the comment pages. I think it'll turn around soon, though. :)

Expand full comment