Underwood & Underwood, Where fortunes are made and lost overnight, 1920
Gelatin silver print, 36 x 43 cm
Digital image courtesy of the Library of Congress
Home is where I put my whole self away
in the garage or the attic or inside
a part of me I won’t visit soon.
My identity knots around everyone else’s finger in Texas.
I forgot I was brown
until Texas pointed to the border.
I forgot my orientation was straight
to hell if I love another woman.
I’m having trouble adjusting
the light so I look straight enough not to get fired.
I whisper the word queer
over & over like a spell—
to remind myself I’ll come back for it again later
in a new city, with a new job,
when there’s enough money to be alive.
Most days I want to grieve
& I want all the stars to grieve with me
because in Texas even the moon hides
herself behind the clouds—
away from every woman she loves.