04-17-2011, 02:11 AM
During my second breakdown, when I stalked through the fields
behind my old school, as night descended like a lid.
I sought refuge with my Nan,
who arranged a taxi then waited at the door.
Then she and I shared what we thought were secrets.
I told her I was gay and she said “I know”
like a tender confirming the price of a drink.
We hugged and she told a tale of her own,
how as a girl she’d loved a boy who "everybody knew was queer",
effete and unattached as he was.
Surrounded by sedate portraits - one of a rose filled wicker basket,
another depicting dinner on the pier, a woman in a red dress,
two tuxedoed gents and a faceless waiter – cookbooks
and Wilber Smith novels belonging to her late husband,
I felt cold as her narrative reached its ending.
behind my old school, as night descended like a lid.
I sought refuge with my Nan,
who arranged a taxi then waited at the door.
Then she and I shared what we thought were secrets.
I told her I was gay and she said “I know”
like a tender confirming the price of a drink.
We hugged and she told a tale of her own,
how as a girl she’d loved a boy who "everybody knew was queer",
effete and unattached as he was.
Surrounded by sedate portraits - one of a rose filled wicker basket,
another depicting dinner on the pier, a woman in a red dress,
two tuxedoed gents and a faceless waiter – cookbooks
and Wilber Smith novels belonging to her late husband,
I felt cold as her narrative reached its ending.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe