Ordinary

“One minute you’re waiting for the sky to fall

The next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all.”

“Lovers in a Dangerous Time” Bruce Cockburn, 1984

The moment the star swells before bursting

is the most beautiful

worth the Technicolor aftermath

as light splinters,

shatters

and begins the long fall to Earth

I’m working on grad school apps but it’s taken a backseat to perhaps considering schools in blue states or out of the country. It’s not lost on me that as I am defining my poetry in my personal statements as “lesbian domestic, lesbian confessional” this country is showing it’s backlash to my “ordinary”. My idea is that the lesbian confessional has not been fully explored, how could it? We’ve had marriage a year.  The ordinary domestic--the sour milk breath of an infant pressed to your chest, or the weight of afternoon sunlight across the living room as you read in silence—these ordinary moments, the non-events of life haven’t been fully written because we are not ordinary. We are denied a place in the ordinary. So much the act of raising a child is political for a queer woman in the way it isn’t for a straight one. The slant of light a search light looking for fault or a sign that we are the beginning of the end times, the breakdown of morality.

I don’t want to write political poems.

I am at my core a poet of love.

But the second I use the pronoun “she” it becomes a political act.

When I wrote my undergrad thesis I was not allowed to defend for honors over inappropriate line edits my teacher suggested. I wrote about the meaning of names and how chosen names in our [gay] culture relieve the weight of given ones. My professor crossed out “our” as if all US culture did the same.

She was wrong.

She was wrong and I didn’t get to defend for honors.

Maybe we aren’t ready for the lesbian confessional, my senior workshop wasn’t. It was that small red pencil line that crossed out my subculture. My otherness.

But it’s not the heterosexual domestic we’re afraid of losing. The heterosexual family unit is in danger of nothing more that perhaps being seen as uninteresting. As confessional. Women’s poetry. My ordinary will never be uninteresting, it will always be other, poltical. It will also be political protest poetry.

The fight over an “our” ordinary. Perhaps a different sort of ordinary. A queer ordinary.

I’ll build you a house by the sea

Without closets

And bedrooms upon bedrooms

To unpack all of our baggage

And let it the afternoon sunlight. 

A thread

I’m having a hard time with the reality of my dog’s surgery next Thursday. He’s 14 but healthy enough to go under anesthesia. The surgery is small, the surgeon’s hands skillful, but I waver on verge of nervous and pleading tears all day. Please. Please, don’t take my dog. 

I never thought my 14 year old rescue dog would outlive my dad, but he did.

And this dog, this rescue mutt from Texas, shepherded me through the sickness, and the long shadow of grief as my constant companion.

I see my dog and I think of my father, frail but skin yellowed and stretched too far over the center until he looked a bit like the moon. Think of that last hug at the hospital, the goodbye that wasn’t supposed to be forever. Crying and trying not to cry. 

Holding my father in a hug like maybe I could hold him to Earth.

And failing.

I think, I’m not ready for my shepherd to go out like that. Not ready to drop him off for that final goodbye that isn’t supposed to be a final goodbye. The threads of this grief are tangled, coiled so tight into a dark tapestry, that little as I am I cannot reach my arms around. It blankets everything in the shadow of loss.

I cannot lose my dog because my father died. Because there should be a limit on how much the universe can take before it owes restitution.  

Clay Daughters

We

   women

   educated

&
disseminated

on the wind like seeds
to land alone and
like Hera make our daughters
out of clay.

Daughters to grow
down
beneath the soil.
Roots beginning as small clay-brown hands
grasping a finger tying us to

Gaia

to earth

to our ancestral mothers.

And to this place we landed      tossed aside
to till this hard soil into forest.

Microagression

I froze when the waitress asked “together or separate.”

Because here we were not just with your coworkers

but your employees.

And it took me back to Northern Michigan.

To a blue collar bar with wood paneling,

ancient crackling neon sign for Pabst Blue Ribbon

before the hipsters claimed it.

The bar was

haunted by spirits

Wrong Way

Today I turned the wrong way and ended up in your neighborhood.

I felt the a cold, pointed apprehension prick under my scalp. Awoke from the shock when the driver beside me laid in to his horn. It took a bit to shake of this feeling, like physical pain.

And I wondered why it haunts me, still. We dated a few months my senior year, a fall romance turned damp and listless in the spring.

Now I haven't seen you in 4 months. We've been strangers almost as long as we were lovers.

Yet you haunt me, still. This pain like an ice pick behind my eye. Except lobotomies are for forgetting. This is the pain of the body remembering. I'm not sure how you ended up in my limbic system, coiled in my lizard brain.

I want to shout, see? If you'd only waited we could have had everything we planned. Now I stand here, the fool in the rain proving a point to no one as I live our life myself.

In the still moments I get lost in the profound grief, I’m submerged. When the sand and seaweed settles sometimes I can look up through the grief and once again see stars. I missed them in the dark. There’s so much distance between the ocean floor and the stars. I miss him. I miss her. It’s easier to miss her, she’s still alive. I move cautiously around Iowa City, as if she might appear behind any corner, I skipped Pride. I scatter when I think I might see her.

Give Me that Old Time Dyke Spirituality: Why Womyn’s Communities Should Matter to Millennials

If you are a queer woman under 35, and have never been in womyn’s space, it’s unfortunate but not surprising.  We grew up solidly in third wave feminism and the both liberating and frustrating ambiguity of Queer Theory. I have a complicated relationship with the term “queer.” I love the unity of identifying as women-who-love-women, bringing together bi, pan, and lesbian women together by this otherness, by this desire that separates us from heterosexual society. I’ve identified (in order) as pansexual, bi-sexual (I was pan before people really knew what that was), queer, and lesbian. It seems like this would make our community larger. I like the idea of fluid sexuality, but in practice mine is static. My attempts to “not label it” and trying to “love a person and not a gender” lead to a lot of confusion and broken hearts. Now, t-shirts with “hearts not parts” on them make me nervous, as much as they can be a statement for LGBT advancement I feel they are discouraging to less flexible identities. I’m not wired that way.

In addition to being ambiguously queer we allegedly live in a more tolerant world, whatever that means. This does not promote community. People come out at younger ages to semi-supportive peers, and sometimes even families. The need for community is considered diminished.  If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to be more than “tolerated” by society and ambiguously “queer” you need to make the effort to experience womyn’s communities. Go for a weekend, for a retreat. Trust me. Just go.

The Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival was probably the largest and the easiest for young queer women to attend, but we didn’t for various reasons, either beliefs about what makes someone a woman, money, time, location, or simply not knowing what it was. With Michfest gone it’s a little harder for millennial women to find communities with a large number of other young women, but they are out there. Grab your lady-loving friends and find one.

This is possibly the most radical self-care you can do as a queer woman. The womyn who forged these communites have lived through unbelievable hardship and they are still here. Womyn’s communities come out of the 70’s when same-sex love was illegal and dangerous. They’ve fought harder than you can imagine. They know how to take time for themselves and rally the strength of the Amazon Nation. Take a break, unplug, and connect with other womyn, maybe sit in a hammock topless or take in a workshop. It’s womyn taking care of womyn. That is deeply powerful magic. Yes, magic. Academics and anthropologists have written about being taken in by the powerful experiences they had as an observer at rituals in womyn’s space, feeling things they hadn’t anticipated. It’s not hard in womyn’s space, every member of the community is appreciated and valued for her contribution. It doesn’t matter if it’s your first time or your 30^th time in a womyn’s community, you are invited to contribute. You are co-creating the space.

Second, it’s outside of the bar. I know it was so much fun to drink and go to the club when we were 22.  This is a connection more substantive than substance abuse and hooking up, although you can do that too. If your liver is crying and your ears are ringing, give the quiet of the wilderness a try. Part of this added acceptance in mainstream culture means we can be jerks to each other just like heterosexuals on the dating scene, but have you ever asked yourself “should we?” If you find yourself using and discarding women, a womyn’s community provides a lot of relationship modeling which heterosexuals have in abundance but queer women sometimes lack.

Third, we have a lot to learn about organizing. I’ve attended several Midwestern Bisexual Lesbian Gay Transgender and Allies Collegiate Conferences (MBLGTACC) and the last few years have been disheartening. One year student organizers mocked a Deaf person for needing accommodation. They needed an interpreter and the organizers posted to the Facebook page that because they could speak they were “faking.” In womyn’s communities typically accommodations are one of the first things considered. As the original community ages, considerations are made for adaptive camping. Michfest had Deaf camping and interpreters at every stage who were acknowledged and thanked. Have you ever seen an interpreter thanked? Until Michfest I hadn’t.

MGBLTACC last year was hostile to lesbians. A queer woman used “she was basically a white lesbian” as an insult. In a workshop I attended a trans person suggested bisexual women and trans people have a better alliance because lesbians are hostile. The only part of the conference I enjoyed was our identity panel for lesbians. We played games, made a Facebook group, started a group chat, and planned a bar night. The lesbians of MGBLTACC are still in touch. I don’t know what happened to the people who made those comments at the conference and I don’t really care. Safe spaces aren’t safe if everyone is in them.

Michfest had a Womyn of Color Sanctuary that is very much missed. Unlike campus “safe spaces” womyn’s communities are not open to everyone, the Sanctuary was a community inside a community. The seclusion of women’s communities makes them sacred and safe places for things like nudity which really helps learning body positivity. Finding the people who embody the same identities you do at the same intersections is powerful and being in a space with only these women is very affirming.

If you are leery of the womyn-born-womyn policies some communities have, you can either look for an inclusive space (several exist) or participate as my pastor says “like a participating anthropologist.” This helped me out in several tight spots while serving on Spiritual Life at my college where my identity as a woman and a lesbian put me at odds with some of the faith communities we visited. However, I’m happy I took the time to visit these places even as an observer, even if they weren’t “for me” exactly. You are visiting another culture.

Fourth, these womyn know what it’s like to really be an ally. They’ve been fighting with other marginalized groups before it was trendy. Some of these women have decades of helping communities they are not part of. They have wonderful tools to pass on and are happy to educate you on the issues. It’s a great way to get involved actually doing useful work for another community. It’s a good example of appreciation and not appropriation. Womyn bring their culture to teach and share and other womyn take it with reverence and respect. I recently honored a sister who passed at both an ecumenical communion service and a ritual. I’m sure her name is also being spoken at a Jewish service. It’s cultural transmission.

Fifth, out later in life? Had a heterosexual marriage before? Not a problem. So did many of the elders in the community. I dislike the idea of a “gold star lesbian” a woman who has only been with other women because it presupposes a level of acceptance not all women have. If your parents were incredibly religious, or you grew up in a tiny town, were abused or assaulted, or for some other reason feel you didn’t benefit from the supposed acceptance going around these days, you’ll meet other lesbians who also took a little while to come out. Its rough out there.

Sixth, have you ever been completely free to make jokes about lesbian sex, run around topless in the sun, or just feel completely at ease away from street harassment? Womyn’s communities are the only places I’ve found completely free from cat calling.

Seventh, do you have a daughter? Do you want her to be empowered? Children really absorb the energy of these events with long lasting effects. Nothing in the world is as wonderful as little girls with their fists raised high singing “Amazon women gonna rise again” and feeling empowered about their bodies and abilities.

Try it. If you like it, build it. 

Pride and Prejudice

I confess I don't usually attend Pride. In recent years I've found it a bit too commercial. I also find the LGBTQIA+ community to work best as a political coalition but, in all honesty I prefer the company of other lesbians. We may be LGBTQIA+ family but each letter is a separate subculture. We look out for our own, have our own history, rituals, traditions and beliefs. And like all families we fight. Our infighting can be worse than threats from outsiders. When pressed though we can function as one unit. I love my extended LGBTQIA+ community but I don't alway like them. That's okay.

This year is different. This year is the first time in awhile I've felt Pride really embodying it's original intention. Pride is a political act. Pride isn't safe. Pride is about being seen and taking back our space. We're here. We're queer. Get used to it. We aren't going anywhere. Pride is a spectacle with drag queens, drag kings, dykes on bikes, leather and nudity.

Pride isn't a little street festival, just something to do over the weekend. We go to Pride with intention. We go to Pride at great personal cost to ourselves. We go to Pride to be seen in our most queer identites. We do not soften them. We do not cover them.

Queer covering, described by Kenji Yoshino in his book Covering: the Hidden Assult on Our Civil Rights, describes a survival technique used by queer people to tone down a disfavorable identity. Maybe it's acting less "femme" if you are a man at work or dressing more feminine if you are a woman. It can be keeping your personal life to yourself. Not being in the closet exactly, just not being upfront that your new boyfriend is actually your new girlfriend. Maybe you deflect and ask the other women at work about the new men in their lives avoid talking about the woman in yours. We trade the motorcycles for the mom van, the crew cuts for curls and say "see? We're just like you. We live in the suburbs with our kids."

Pride is a point of contention when it comes to covering. Pride is the opposite of covering, or it was. Now, we want Neil Patrick Harris to move next door and Ellen DeGeneres on the PTA. We would rather not have the bear in leather next door. Marriage is something the mainstream understands, landdykes? Not so much. But, covering isn't working.

A gay night club in Orlando was the target of the recent shooting. Our bars, like Pride are places we don't cover. Last time I was at a gay bar I watched a burlesque dancer with tassels on her ass. There's smoke machines, flashing lights, and sometimes a guy in only a jockstrap handing out glow sticks. We grind with our partners on the dance floor. We make out. Maybe we have sex in the bathroom. Straight bars, or as we typically call them--bars, aren't like that. But that's because the gay bar is one place our sexuality is normalized.

And that's why some people are silent about the attack. Do you have to be that kind of gay? Do you have to be so wild? It's that kind of behavior that makes people uncomfortable. We get it from our own sometimes. Don't be so "faggy" don't be too "butch." it shows people are still uneasy, we have not yet reached the level of comfort with assless chaps as we have marriage.

But consider this, where do you see heterosexual behavior? On billboards, in commercials, in magazines, in movies. You don't have to go to a special section of the store to find straight porn and the actors in your porn will probably actually be heterosexuals having heterosexual sex. Gay porn is often made by straight actors for straight consumers. No one has lesbian sex with press-on nail-claws unless it's in a porno or a cautionary tale about the dangers of long nails. On TV we see straight actors on top of each other gyrating pretending to have sex. We don't see a whole lot of kissing, or even hand-holding with queer people. In fact many times we don't even get confirmation a character is queer. Yet, were pretty aware which characters on television are straight.

Society may be okay with gay people in theory. They are not okay with what we do. It's love the sinner hate the sin. That's not good enough. Yes, you love us as people, but are you okay with us expressing our love as you do yours? If you feel weird about the shooting the answer is no. You like gays but not "that kind" of gay. You like gays but not the "really faggy" ones or the "really butch" ones. You like gay people who could pass for heterosexuals but simply aren't. And you want these heterosexual-looking gays to act asexual in public.

That's why a night club was targeted. It targeted our uncovered selves, our sexual behavior, our audacity to do in public what we do in private. It was an attack on our refusal to cover.

My Father, the Storm

part of a longer piece. I just can't right now. It comes little by little bled onto the keyboard. 

My father gave me a love of the outdoors and a healthy respect for the terrifying beauty of nature. He had a keen ability to find teachable moments in the wild. 

Wilderness

"Wilderness" didn't make it onto my blog while my father was living for obvious reasons. I will say he did make good in the end. I flew up to see him over Christmas this year. I wrote this after visiting my father in Alaska after a long estrangement.

"Wilderness" was originally published in the Open Field. It is the winner of a 2015 Clyde D. Tull Prose Award, a 2015 Reader's Choice Award. It was a finalist for the Nick Adams Short Story Contest in 2016.

Today was a Good Day

Today was a good day.

      A belated spring came to my beloved Hilltop. I slept in after I closed the library last night.

A job called back.

An editor returned my email.

A heated text to my ex didn’t send by electronic failure and I had a chance to think better of it.

I returned to another of my jobs.

I have three.

I’m back at two.

I prepared for a long night at the library. I stirred my hot chocolate into my instant coffee.

Stopped.

Excerpts from my Senior Chapbook "Gods of Shadow and Light": Lois Lane Loves Wonder Woman

This piece is part of my PDF chapbook, Gods of Shadow and Light coming soon.

This isn't a poem about my girlfriend.

Okay that's a lie.

This isn't directly a poem about my girlfriend. This is poem for all the partners of Superheros in the world; the teachers, paramedics, doctors, firefighters, nurses, social workers, and anyone who saves the world at work. It can be really hard to take more of a support role in a relationship; to make the dinners, change plans at the last minute, have nights in because your significant other is exhausted. This job is so so important if undervalued, even for Lois Lane who has a career in journalism.

Wonder Woman was recently set up as a paramour for Superman and there are online debates about "who is better for Superman." What about who's better for Lois Lane? Wonder Woman? This poem pays homage to the type of female-centric strength and identity based on relationships praised by radical cultural feminists. It isn't less than, it isn't working in the shadows of a partner's career.

Radical feminism came in two distinct philosophical camps: radical liberal feminists argued the nature of femininity combined with women’s biological reproductive role impaired their development as human beings. Biology and culture combined to keep women from development as individuals. Philosophers in this camp argued women must be liberated from reproduction. This philosophy urged the adoption of androgynous traits--that is traits either male or female, to create whole individuals. Radical cultural feminists argued the reverse, that women could be empowered through femininity and our reproductive roles. Our nurturance and interdependence shouldn't be replaced by individuation and achievement, but instead, a higher value could be attributed to interdependence on our community and the bonding of our identity to our personal relationships. This development is not inferior to male development and leads to personal growth, maturity (a stage of development psychology suggested women never reached because they didn't become individuated!) and the development of empathy. The latter would strongly influence the Women’s Music movement of the 1970’s which sought to change a society that rewarded separation and achievement by building attachment and community interdependence.

A sign at Michfest on Lois Lane (if this is your pic I will credit, let me know.)