The Past 10 Years

The Past 10 Years

I see the sign that says road construction ahead,
I just don't believe it, which I would like to attribute
to living in the Midwest the past 10 years, but it's
probably my natural skepticism just as much, so
as the cars slow to a crawl on 66 and people don't
so much attempt to merge as force their way into
whichever lanes seem most useful to them at the time,
I remember what it's like to be parked on 66 at midnight
because that's the only time they can do work, and
I remember how uninformative the road construction
signs are in the Commonwealth, but mostly, I remember
why I've been living in the Midwest the past 10 years.

Thanks For Coming Out

Thanks For Coming Out

I sip my B-52 and spin the glass around on the table and
catch you staring for just a second, but I don't say anything.
It's not just how things were, it's how you remember them,
you continue. In our case, I'll never know why we stopped
exchanging phone calls anymore than you will, but we stopped
for long enough that this is the first time we've seen each other
in ten years, and yeah, I know we said at some point we'd
never change, in fact, I think I wrote that in the back of your
yearbook, but obviously you did because there's no way you would
have fit into this dress in high school. I smile politely, but someone
else has caught your eye, and you wave and don't know whether
to awkwardly shake my hand or awkwardly hug me as you leave,
but you do thank me for coming out while I do my best to not laugh.

Free Parking

Free Parking

She pulls her Ford Escape up to the meter
only twenty minutes before the tailor closes,
nothing in the ash tray, so she opens her
purse, starts digging frantic, frantic, frantic
until she unearths 1, then 2 prized quarters
and she smiles to herself because she certainly
can't afford a 42 dollar ticket. She gets out,
not much time to spare, doesn't notice the
blinking red meters all around her, definitely
doesn't read the small list below the enforced
times, doesn't understand free parking in
Minneapolis any more than in Monopoly,
so she, like many others on this Veteran's
Day, donates 2 quarters too many to the city.

Can't Hardly Wait

Can't Hardly Wait

I haven't quite pulled out the suitcase,
but I'm almost there, only another 11 days
until I touch down in the Commonwealth
again, to think back to a time when I identified
more with the teen romantic comedy than
the Replacements song, but I can't wait.
Sometimes those earlier versions of high school
selves seem atavistic, but I think they're a bit
closer than any of us would like to think.
If we fall into old habits, I hope it is four square
and not teenaged omnipotence that colors the
weekend, and if I have anything to show for the
last ten years, I would prefer to showcase how
little it is I know as opposed to how much I
think I know; hell, I couldn't even make up
my mind on my gender for 27 years, and
besides, I'm done grading myself against
those 400 folks, I think we all finally are
and if that is the case, I can't hardly wait.

I'll Always Be Him

I'll Always Be Him

Someday it'll be one of my wedding pictures
in a 3x5 frame on my desk in a beautiful
wedding gown, and frankly that's always
the way I've pictured it; after all, you
(hopefully) only get married once and you
may as well do it right, and for my part,
I could never imagine doing it in a tuxedo,
even if it was just to fit in. Maybe that'll
be a tipping point for my coworkers, some
of whom have only know me as Jane,
who still can quite master pronouns, which
is silly to me, as there just aren't that many
choices, but I get the sense no matter how
nice my dress is, to them, I'll always be him.

Uptown's Just More Shoreline

Uptown's Just More Shoreline

The first place I worked in Minneapolis
is gone, added onto a salon, and even
institutions from the halcyon days of Uptown are
shuttering their doors, with the Uptown Bar
closed for good, soon to be a Columbia. I shake
my head. There's definitely no chance of me
hearing the next Nirvana playing Uptown as I
cut down the alley to get to my place. These
houses, businesses, roads, they all ebb like the
city lakes they share their names with, and I'm
still constantly refining my map after six years.
I used to hear stories of the outdoor dining area
at McDonald's and now I tell stories of how there
was a Border's in Calhoun Square when I moved here.

Back Together Again

It may be time for another month of writing. I'll see how the first few days go. Anyway, I need more practice at this entire "writing as who I actually am" thing as opposed to the "writing in abject terror that you will ever figure out there's a lot of crazy shit going on with me, and god forbid I ever touch on the one thing that has me really fucked up". I did a little of that before, but back to it, this time with all of me on the table for consideration at least.

Back Together Again

The shades are drawn, the lights are off
and I have no intention of changing that.
The martial beat of "One Hundred Years"
pounds out of the speakers as I sit under
a blanket staring at a blank television.
Some nights I just sit on the couch, crying
feeling like an idiot because all I'm doing
is sitting on this couch, but I just don't
have the energy to face anyone, much less
ask anyone for any help, so when my phone
beeps, I ignore it, but it's harder to ignore the
doorbell, so I pull my head under the covers
until 5 minutes later, there's a pounding on
the door, and I reluctantly get up, ask who it is,
and you reply that it's all the king's horses.
I smile a fragile smile, let you in, and the smile
quickly shatters. For your part, you say nothing,
just rub my back and we listen to Pornography,
You never even ask what's wrong, you just do
your best to help put me back together again.