brimstone
tell me
how to explain the word “queer”
to my presbyterian grandmother
how to tell her how much i love
burying my tongue between your thighs –
she can believe jesus turned water to wine,
taught in a segregated school in the deep south
the only white face against the blackboard
but she can’t see
the truth in the ways our fingers interlink
without a single conscious thought.
tell me
how to justify etching deeper lines
into an already wrinkled face
when fate will take its course soon enough;
why worry a weakened heart?
but why trip over half-lies every time that syrupy southern voice
asks if there are any boys in my life –
no, grandmama
i’m in love with a girl whose kisses are so full of joy i swear my heart could burst.
tell me
how can a sin be so sweet?
tell me
that you fear for my immortal soul.
because i can’t believe any god would oppose
the power that turned me to flesh from stone.
