requiromantic, I

I’d never heard the word before.
And yet it seems to fit:
when romance wanes and waxes by
the strength one has to deal.

Am I aromantic? I—
I fell in love once more
with someone with poetic wit,
but nothing came of it.

I rarely think I should explore
a romance; when I feel
a love begin, I find I’m spry—
this word I think I’ll steal.

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if you are in the dark, may you be visited by a spark

shadow cast over all the earth
(earth my body)

black snake leaking filth into the rivers
(water my blood)

inhuman persons spouting smoke into the sky
(air my breath)

smoke and snake and shadow
and it seems too hard to fight
the night’s so dark and dismal
and it seems there won’t be dawn

that’s when to light a candle
that’s when to be the spark
life is not quite that abysmal
you’re a player, not a pawn

(fire my spirit)

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if you are in the dark, may you be visited by a spark by Alex Conall is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.

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Neurodivergence

I’m driving in the fog.
My headlights show me little
but gray.
I hardly see the painted lines.
My hazard lights flash.

A sign gleams briefly out of the mist.
Speed limit 50.
I’m doing twenty
and am not yet to the Maryland line.
At this rate I’ll never
get to Oregon.

Behind me, a rush of honking,
headlights glaring in my rearview,
a blue pickup swerves around me
as though I am deliberately obnoxious
or driving recklessly slow

or as though its driver
can see there is no fog.

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shades of silence

silence is a red, red rose
the aroma of romance
that beloved knows not of

silence is an orange leaf
drifting to the ground
to dry and brown and blow away

silence is a golden eagle
skating through the sky
seeking a jackrabbit

silence is a green grass blade
growing taller than the rest
the mower hums so loudly

silence is a blue, blue sky
listening with calm
a gentle breeze

silence is a violet crayon
skating ‘cross the page
expressing without words

silence is a white sidewalk
leading to my parents’ door
no footsteps to be heard

silence is a black midnight
stars sparkle up above
solitude and peace

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I Dream of a Land

I need your help to imagine what world we want, and I need your help building it in tangible ways, starting right here, right now. This isn’t a metaphor, or just a call to action. Let’s do this right now, slowly and deliberately, with each other. There is work to do.

Dr. Driskill:

I can’t help but be reminded, since you brought up Audre Lorde, that “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house”. I’m white, of course; it is likely that almost anything I do constitutes using the master’s tools to repair and expand the master’s house. (Certainly including my job, which I keep because I like being able to pay the rent, medical bills, and student loans.)

But your mention of Lorde, in context of imagining “what world we want”, also reminds me that “poetry is not a luxury”.

Continue reading “I Dream of a Land”

Tell Me, New Orleans

Tell me, New Orleans:
Would you drink oily water?

Haven’t you ever seen it
when you turn on the tap
and the water that flows
is brown?
It happens, time to time,
here in Dover:
the water runs a clear, pale brown.
I don’t drink it.
Why would you?

Continue reading “Tell Me, New Orleans”

Live.

To everyone terrified of the Trump administration, with special attention to my fellow trans, genderqueer, and nonbinary people, and my fellow disabled people.

Breathe. Air is life.

Drink. Water is life.

Eat. Food is life.

Sleep. Take breaks. Rest is life.

Shower, brush your teeth, and take your meds. Health is life.

Do something that brings you joy. Joy is life.

Do something that brings you strength. Strength is life.

Speak to someone who will remind you you are loved. (Spoilers: You are loved. 🙂 ) Love is life.

If you are able, go outside. Plant your feet on the earth, hug a tree, or admire a flower. Earth is life.

When you are ready, fight. Fight for the trans kids who have just seen their transition hopes go up in smoke. Fight for the disabled adults who have just seen their health care vanish. Fire is life.

Live.

teardrops in the shower

crying in the shower
where it won’t show a track
crying for my country
as it turns the clock back

sobbing in the shower
for it’s not safe to stay
in this country that so hates me
not safe another day

weeping in the shower
for I don’t know how long
where will I go? what will I do?
how can I, so hated, stay alive and strong?

breathing in the shower
air and water are our life
let them hate me. they won’t win.
I will live. I will live.

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The Morning After Election 2016

I am seeing stories.
Trans people terrified
that they won’t live to see
another chance to vote
for those who’ll let them be free.
Even if the midterms
arrive their scheduled day—
which we’re not banking on.
(Of course they will, we pray.)
How many of these people
won’t live to cast that vote?
How many can survive that long?
How many stay afloat?
I am seeing stories,
and each story’s ringing true,
because I’m one of them.
Mom, I hope this pleases you.

Continue reading “The Morning After Election 2016”

The Judgement of Paris

it would have
mattered little
to Troy
had Paris chosen
Athena
or Hera
instead of
Aphrodite

Hera would have made him
king of Europe and Asia

how could that have come about
without war?

Athena would have given him
wisdom and skill in war

how could he have used that
without war?

it would have
mattered little
to Troy

it would have
mattered much
to Helen

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