here are some things you should know (four movements on being queer)

i.

i can’t talk about being queer
without talking about the beginning
Atlanta, Georgia
1984
my mother
a foreign country
whose native tongue i remember
only in dreams
left me

i imagine her
arriving back from the hospital
a “congrats it’s a girl!” balloon
looming in the doorway
how idle her hands must have felt
with no one to hold onto
as i flew across the country
to a new family
my body flailing against the embrace
of a social worker

i have always been
a queer girl
flailing
reaching in the dark
for bodies
and women
and men
and corners of the night
that breathe like water
and smell like new country

see my mother
she made me without boarders
and most days i don’t know
what to do with these hands
these ears
these arms
this neck
this stomach
the birthmarks on my thighs
i hold the weight of her decision
tight in my shoulders
study the mirror for where her skin ends
and mine begins

controlled
polite
afraid to make mistakes
i take what i can get
never need more
than i can give myself
i do my reaching in the dark
where no one can see me
wiping her leftover womb
from my eyes
where no one can see
my undefined peaks
and nameless rivers
you should know
i remember nothing
of the place i came from


ii.

this is not a temporary resting ground
queer is not
a box to check off
or fit into
this body was baked
with a little too much salt
a little darker than the rest
i have been creating a legend for myself
building nests
making tracks
charting love
redefining homeland
since the beginning

you should know that
this body is strong
flexible
inventive
suspended in the meridian
like an arrow
that has abandoned war
to curve around the heart
of the sun
you should know
that i am at home
here
in the middle
the center
here where there is movement
and stillness
and everything in between

iii.

you should know
my body

here is my right ear
when i was five
my mama took me to the mall
to get my ears pierced
a sucker for the pain
i refused to have the other one done
my right ear
diamond studded
i rocked a short buzz cut hair-do
people would call me son
and i would let them
here is where i learned that
being a tomboy was way better
than being a girly girl
where i learned to love
the man in my stride
and the woman in my hips
here is where i learned
to balance


here are my lips
when i was eight
kate and i lingered behind our parents
on our way back from the pool
our shoulders bumping as we walked
they were building new condos that summer
the rain from the weekend
had formed a pool of mud in the construction zone
and our bodies swift and young
ached to be dangerous
still in our bathing suits
we jumped in
pinning each other down
her face so close to mine
i could smell the left-over chlorine
on her breathe
my lips
here is where i learned
i liked it

here is
my belly button
the awkward eye of a
a storm that never quite
reaches the shore
when i was nineteen
i ached here
sometimes it was faint
other times a drum in my ear
like a second heart beat
here is where he kissed me once
where i learned to
let my body unfold
and spread
and fill into
something beautiful

here is my left palm
when i was twenty-two
she stretched her hand
across the seat of the cab
and traced my love lines
here is where i learned
to open
to unclench my fist
for another woman
to be hunger that moves
and lungs that breathe
and voice that sings


iv.

i have always been
queer
reaching in the dark
for someone to hold onto
someone calling my name sweetly
someone brave enough
to see me and ask me to stay
and you should know
there is a river at the center
of my breast bone
it is the same mud color of my skin
its source is embedded in my ribcage
here is where i am learning
to stand
here is where lovers drink from
when they are thirsty
here is where i can love
with my eyes open
here at the center
where i am a woman
without boarders
claiming new land