last night, i slept in your
blue plaid pajama pants
and woke up with them,
and myself, soaked in
period blood.
i cleaned myself off,
cleaned my bedroom up,
and found an old towel
under my bed that we
used to use to wipe off
whatever mess we made
on top of it.
i melted in a bathtub full
of too-hot water and
scented bubbles while
the song my grandfather
used to sing to me as a
lullaby overpowered
any thought i had about
impurity and sin.

The Beethoven piano piece
played on an old
record player

by Miss G
the music teacher
and the class quiet

(or maybe asleep)
but you Yochana
you sat there

engrossed by it
your head moved slightly
your thin shoulders moved

as in a secret embrace
your hands in prayer mode
Reynard sat bored

and eyeing the girls
or drawing inside
his exercise book

rude pictures
I sat half listening
to the Ludwig

other half
watching you Yochana
(being back a few rows)

how slender your body
how the grey cardigan
hugged you tightly

your hair ribboned
green bow
and Reynard whispered

look at titless
how she moves
to this boring crap

bet I could
move her better
Miss G walked

the classroom
arms folded
bespectacled

hair greying
tied in a bun
the brown cardigan

with leather patches
you Yochana
lay your head

on your hands
in meditation
of the piano piece

I viewed you steady
my eyes moved
over you

like an explorer
over new horizons
unexplored seas

O to be within
those arms Yochana
O please.

a mother cradles a child
singing lullaby
the dawn of time
rocking to and fro
to and fro
rocking to and fro
singing lullaby

Andrea Gibson

Introduction:  A couple years ago, I was told a story about a soldier who was set on fire and burned to death because he was gay. After that, I started reading similar stories about people in the GLBTQ community who were tortured or killed by being set on fire and burned. I couldn’t stop thinking about the people who had died that way and couldn’t stop wondering what they might say from where they are now.

The night I was torn from the pages of their Bible
and burned alive
my ashes came down like snow
and a girl who had never seen my face
saw me falling from the sky
and laid down on her back
to make an angel in the powder of my bones.

From heaven, I watched her,
‘though my eyes were still aflame,
and my ribs were still blue.
They didn’t win, I whispered, as her arms built my wings.
They didn’t win.
Look at that moon.
It is a pebble in my hand
Tonight, I could skip it across that fog-drunk sea
to the lashes accordion in the night
and all they know of hate
is that it couldn’t beat the love out of me…

that when they dropped me to the grave,
I fell like a bucket in to a well
and came up full;
carving my lover’s name
into the skin of a weeping willow
that had spent its entire life laughing at the rain.

Hold me like a lantern;
staircase my spine
When they bring the children to my funeral
to scream “******!” at my dust
tell them I was born in to their casket
but I wouldn’t pull the splinters from my heart
any more than Christ would’ve pulled the thorns
from his crimson head.

They can come a thousand times
with their burning matches and their gasoline,
with their hungry laws
and their empty mouths full of prayers to that god
who greeted me at his gates with his throat full of trumpets
and his tears full of shame
as his trembling palms collected the cinders
of his children’s crime.

I know what holy is
I know that the soul is shaped like a bowl;
I know the lies we try to fill it with
and we spill too often
the orchards inside.

But my lover’s shoes were tied with guitar strings
and when I walked beside
there was a silo in my chest,
there was a field full of sun.
there was a river full of gold that we left
to pick our sweet hearts from the trees
that kept uprooting tombstones
so the names of the dead would crumble in to poems.

Write me down like this:
Say my ashes never made the news.
Say the jury was full of shotguns.
Then say the snow that fell on the tip of your tongue
refused to melt away.
Say this to the kids hiding their heartbeats
from their father’s fists.

I planted the garden of my kiss.
I opened the night with my teeth.
I loved so hard that when they pressed their ear to the track
the train they hear coming will still be my chest,
a rumbling harpoon,
a sky they can not bury.

Look at that moon.
I am a pebble in her hand;
a harmonica held to the mouth of the river
where nothing ever burns.

The light from a Nordic sun
Casts soft shadows around your haloed skull
Blessed with the voice of God
Speaking through every crack you have let come loose
Your laughter ricochets off of glass screen
Thor's thunder in mortal form  
LED back lights highlighting your face in joyful relief
I am in awe
Across many landscapes our revelry roams
Making bold statements through electric edges
Slinging axe and sword for sport
Yet you gentle at a warm touch
Curling possessively around those you love
A protector unknown but always on watch
Your rough hands glide over plastic satin buttons
ahhh... such sweet music they make
Lulling me into a lassitude of comfort
Of good humor
Of lust
We are like children in our recess
Bantering from one side to the other with gauntlets thrown
Pick it up!
Gladly...then up the bar and throw it back down
Will it always be like this?
"I don't know"

I plan on sticking around to find out

I saw her outside school
by the steps
leading down
from the classrooms

her eyes were red
behind her thick
lens glasses
her plaited hair

was untidy
she held
a grey/white handkerchief
what's up?

I asked
she shrugged her shoulders
and walked away
from the school

her satchel over her shoulder
along Colnbrook Street
what's up Helen?
I was beside her now

and tried to get
her to talk
(not usually a job)
we came out

on St George's Road
she dawdling along
her handkerchief
to her eyes

some one upset you?
One of the teacher' tell you off?
some boys called me
an ugly four eyed clown

she said
who were they?
I said
don't matter

she said
they said it
we walked along
in silence a while

I tried to think
who would have
upset her
who'd say that

to her
want an ice cream?
I asked
as we came

to a grocer shop
haven't any money
she said tearfully
I have

what do you want?
We went in the shop
and she chose
from a list

by the ice cream counter
I gave the store minder
the coins
and we walked

out of the shop
with our ice creams
thank you
she said

that’s' all right
I said
so who upset you?
that Cogan boy

and another boy
she said
I’ll button his lip
I said

he's always trying
to upset kids
anyway he can't talk
he wears glasses too

I know because
he had to take them off
the last time
we fought

after school
am I ugly?
She asked
you're pretty

I said  
you've the loveliest eyes
I’ve seen
she smiled

and we walked on
towards the Elephant and Castle
I thinking
of jam sandwiches

for tea
and she maybe
thinking
of kissing me.

All through the night she works, tireless,  never ceasing to spin her silken threads
The perfect creation of natures lace, a silken shimmering web
No hand of man could ever produce such a beautiful work of art
With computers and modern technology we still wouldn't know where to start
A silken thread floating on air is gathered up and put into place
All this in darkness without pattern or plan she creates natures beautiful lace
Each silken thread is stronger than steel, stronger than anything man could produce
All this from a spider spinning her web, a product of natural juice
With the coming of dawn and a new rising sun a sight that is sure to amaze
Every tree, every bush,  every fence post, draped in a gown of gossamer lace