I write about many things often picking subjects that I don’t read about enough. I have a collection of pieces that are memories of growing up queer. Gentle, affectionate and nostalgic memories, some are real others are wishful. Emotional authenticity became more important than historical accuracy. I’ve read more poems that I can count about the sweet awakening of hetero sexual awareness than I can count, but few of gay men making the same discoveries.
I tried to capture a sense of innocence, not of guilt and shame. I wanted the pieces to be free of the ‘some drunken adult’ syndrome in which our sexuality is merely the result of some formative year trauma.
I also wanted to write queer poetry that wasn’t coming from an angry, in-your-face, or raw sexual, place. Sometimes the most powerful politic can being who one is without making it into an issue that demands acceptance. Ghost Kiss is one of these many nostalgia pieces.
I was eight
Peter was ten
his grandmother
in tight plum slacks
was a million
the occasion
his hallowe’en party
I was dressed as a ghost
my mom’s easy-to-do costume
I didn’t want that off-white sheet
with uneven eye-holes
‘scarier’ my mom smiled
with a nudge
I trudged off
anticipated mockery in my ears
Grandma greeted at the door
popping her teeth out
‘who wants a kiss’
she would purse her lips
if you wanted one
you’d get the wrapped kind
if you didn’t
she’d cackle
‘ha ha I’ll give you one
before the night is over’
pirates ballerinas
cowboys spacemen
kids in real costumes
Peter was dressed as a ghost too
only he had curtains
nylon and sort of transparent
they were really spooky
me and him slipped off
to a cool upstairs room
stripped off and reappeared
in each other’s costumes
to fool everyone
when Grandma
caught sight of my naked little body
under those curtains she shrieked
‘you horrid horrid little boy
how could you do something like that’
and sent me home
no treats
except for the moment
when Peter and me naked
hugged kissed
then got into the ghost costumes
many of us still wear today
This piece touches my heart. How very sweet and tender. The fear of the woman is so clear in her large, bullying, ignorant manner. Excellent.
Reblogged this on TOpoet and commented:
a ghost from the archives