we would swipe into the Resource Center on Sexuality and Gender
and stare at the books they had there
about other. The day when we get
always several years off.
So we set up folding chairs on the lawn,
affix our stories to them and call it victory.
We find ourselves
and medical bills,
In the space between breathy whispers
and hearing aids.
When you reveal to me
holes in your shoes,
I feel that maybe as close as we can get to a movement
in this union of distinctions
is that the same ground that tore your shoes
tore mine too,
in this struggle to live
we have earned
Somewhere is filled with books about where we came from.
And how long it took us to arrive.
If our type of kinship is made by blood,
it is the blood that spurts out of the well-earned gash in my big toe.
My tired fingers clench in yours
Which tells me that I have walked well
If there is swagger to the limp in my ankle,
you see it more than me.
You have danced many times before and you will dance again.
And our shoes will glimmer. Together in the every day light of life.
If ever I get home first
I will buy you a shoe rack.
I will put it in the room we will build together.
I will repair your shoes
but only if you ask me.