attic suitcases

still singing their travel songs

despite the dust

the year I planted

hundreds of tulip bulbs

and waited quietly

moonlit bike ride —

we see the curve just in time

to follow it

we see you, moon

too bright for hiding —

tag, you’re it

the first cool morning —

we spend the day

denying autumn

late August run —

no petals left

to catch the first light

early onset —

medicine cabinets full

of unused bandaids

tiny cricket

I mistake for an ant

until the jump

old hurricane —

the town still tied together

at the waterline


Also? This happened:

home from camp —

and a little bigger, now

than the space he left

small white butterfly

in the lavender again —

comforts of home

museum day trip —

our boy tells his friend

about the subway rat

a box of birthdays —

we turn over old photos

hungry for names

(for MKR)

mid-August heat wave —

everyone looks for a tree

to stand under

punishing heat —

only cicadas and stars

seem unaffected

late summer —

we decide to stop mowing,

let the deer make trails

every bloom, it seems

has its own bumblebee —

mid-August garden

tickle on my leg —

I resist the urge to slap,

make myself look first

mid-August —

I ask the trees

for their thoughts

the tune I whistle

without even knowing it —

thoughts of you

early fireflies,

mothers calling children home —

twilight on our street

missing my friend

and trying one more time

to welcome tears

one bee

against a backdrop

of cicadas

we catch and release

so many fish we start

to recognize them

Something Wild Inside My Head

Something wild happened inside my head today.

I spent the morning with my parents at Pennswood Village, a seriously well-appointed Quaker retirement community that was one of the stops on their "NOW where should we live?" tour.

We had a great visit, and on my drive to work (I'd told my office that I'd be in for the latter part of the day), I started thinking about what it would be like if we were to live at Pennswood Village when the time came to downsize and simplify. I let that daydream roll on for a while as I drove up Route 1 and cut over to 27, soaking up sun and rooting for the traffic lights to turn green so that I could just keep rolling.

When I got back to my office, still thinking about retirement choices, I remembered a conversation I'd been privy to, not so many years ago, about how maddeningly wrong it was that some retirement communities - even some of the Quaker ones - would charge gay and lesbian couples the higher "singles living together" rates rather than the more affordable "married living together" rates. Was Pennswood one of those places? I think it was maybe Stapeley, up in Germantown? I haven't lived in Pennsylvania for almost 20 years now, and retirement is still a distant dream, so I'd never gotten the full update on which places had which policies. 

Then I went through a familiar chain of thoughts... should I have asked someone at Pennswood about their policies towards LGBT retirees while I was there and had the chance? Or would that have been a "this is neither the time nor the place" situation, since it was my (cis & straight) parents who were researching their options? Should the possibility of someone else's discomfort ever be enough to silence me? Might there be times when I just need to be "off duty" as a social justice activist?

And then, maybe two hours after I'd left Pennswood, I suddenly thought, "Wait. Wait. Wait a minute! None of this matters anymore. Marriage is marriage now. That whole "find out if their fee structure acknowledges the reality of your relationship" thing is a thing of the past."

!!

When I told my now-spouse this story, she, too, had the "marriage is marriage now" epiphany only when I got to that part of the story.

And THIS, my friends, is what spending our entire adult lives living out identities which are actively discriminated against has done to our imaginations. We're flinchy. We've got our guard up. We prepare for battle. We forget.

Now, on this issue at least, we get to experience a rush of remembrance, and feel our arms drop slowly to our sides.

I want so badly for all victims of discrimination to someday have this experience of watching at least some of the scaffolding that held up prejudice get pushed off the edge of a cliff. 

It's a long fall, and a pretty satisfying sound when it cracks wide open. 

Marriage will still be many things to many people, but it will never be used as a weapon against me. Not now. Not anymore. Never again.

the turn of the tide —

halfway through sleepaway camp

we want him back

holding on

to the tail of the game —

big fan from way back

burning my tongue

the third morning in a row —

your tea is better

from scary to cool —

our teen crosses over to

relishing thunder

at the creek’s edge

where the willow leaves

touch the water

I help my mother

set out tiny cups of beer —

tomato dreams

unhooking my necklace

I feel time circle back —

her hands there first