“Prelude to Lesbianism”

Sweet girl, we haven’t talked in months. 

Call me when you have the time– 

which is simply to say

I’m sorry I left my greed to simmer, 

let smoke stain the pot and mark me a sinner. 

I’m a coward before a crime. 

A premature mourner with a penchant for penance, 

splintered with foreign fantasies of women, and of death. 

Tell me how the angels croon words of gospel. 

How there is peace laced in the hollows of salvation, 

one sided as it may be. 

Tell me about your father’s wrath and your mother’s silence. 

About the mango seed that’s been rooted 

in the trunk of your throat since you were ten,

the sorrow and the trickle, the erosion of naked palms. 

Tell me what the rain whispers to you that I cannot, 

what beauty lies in a murder,

plucked wings half-dipped in rivulets of satin– 

Tell me and then I’ll tell you

how the silence gathers when my mind isn’t enough,

the fever, the pulse, the neural crossfire in the cortex,

the umbilical cord coiled round my neck for good measure.

Forget the fear and come kiss me under the red dogwood– 

wait til’ membrane settles into frame, fingers fasten unto cheek,

broken noses soft and slick under an unforgiving sun, 

our bodies queer and contrite contingent on the echoes

of self-loathing with each pleated beat beneath the breast. 

Only when the cicadas scream out hellfire will I know I’m breathing. 

My sister asks what happened between us–  

something like crucifixion but closer to rebirth

I can never tell the difference.   

God or Girl, 

all I am is alien and all you are is beautiful.