Not Bored
Why
would
I be
bored when I
can pluck from my bookshelf
the key to exploring a whole new world?
I’m going to visit my trans sisters up north.
I’m hoping the trip will bring me back to life
and reignite a feminine spark.
It’s already June and
I’ve hardly gone out in girl mode all year.
I haven’t been giving myself quality time.
I’m becoming more closeted.
So I’m looking forward to good meals,
dance parties,
laughter,
community,
shopping,
seeing old friends,
and wearing whatever I want.
But I’m also looking forward
to the aftereffects,
to the hunger for more
gender euphoria,
to the fire that will burn through
my barriers and excuses.
I am hoping that
time in my own skin
will resurrect me.
three trees dance in the middle ~ one with a GREAT BIG HEART!!!
On Friday, June 19, a cruise ship arrived at the dock in Seward, Alaska, with a dead 61-foot, adult female fin whale on top of the ship’s bulbous bow. A local company towed the whale to a nearby beach for a necropsy (animal autopsy). — National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration
According to the autopsy I was pregnant,
freshly dead, in good nutritional condition, with plenty
of blubber and muscle.
Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the jaw,
spine, and ribs. The ship slid
onto the rocky shore, not knowing
my limp body was speared to the sharp bow.
I must have been pushed so far away
from my pod.
They say plans are underway for my carcass—
carcass not body—to be towed out to sea
where I am expected to sink like a stone
and nourish a wide variety of deep sea life.
I suppose it’s a solace for you to imagine me
serving a greater purpose in death,
but hear this—write this in the report—
every time your skin touches salt water
may you think of me,
not peaceful in death as I was in life,
but raging in my watery grave.
I swear with all my 61 feet
that I will follow you. All your life,
when a rib catches,
when your jaw suddenly throbs for no reason,
when a chill runs up your aching spine,
may you recall exactly what broke mine.
You are away again this year
on your special day,
No awkward side hug
or DQ ice cream cake,
those will await your return.
Home a short time, then college.
Maybe I kept you too busy-
Scouts and 4H for summers
Plus band and sports during school
I wanted you to have choices,
but think you may have just wanted
more time to yourself.
I was once told by a man
that he could not wait
until I was disillusioned
with the U.S. governement
I never once said
I liked what I saw
I only dreamt of
what could someday be
I walk around my little world
and I see so many people
People who care for one another
Who long for the same thing
as me
I see people who think
they want for the best
but secretly hope for
their own well-being
Maybe some day
we will have the wherewithal
to always hope for one another
relentlessly, unfailing
I may not like
what it is that I see
but I will not make it through
without hope for what can be
The powers that be
gave the man
a cannon for a hand.
He had the important job
of rooting out all
that was deemed overtly silly.
It was to achieve
some sort of balance,
a continuity.
The man (with the cannon hand)
had explicit and deliberate
rules that he was to follow.
Those who didn’t align
with the guidelines
were removed.
Those that the man (with the cannon hand)
simply did not like
were also removed.
And so things went
for a little while.
The guidelines were often amended,
new things added,
new things banned.
The guidelines rarely laxed.
Eventually the powers that be
were all able to agree
that the notion of a man
with a cannon for a hand
was quite silly, and that
a super cannon
stationed high above on a super
space station
would be much more plausible.
The man (with the cannon hand)
had not yet gotten
to the cannon hand ban
part of the guideline updates
before he was promptly removed.
