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Two Poems

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Time For Lia and Girlala… I want to buy time For the dolls who realize when they are young And are bullied And are litigated And are shoved into lockers and closets I want to buy time If the world wants to cannibalize their humanity At least let me buy them time For them to emerge from the shell of childhood And the rigors of youth For their brains to slow down And for them to realize that there is freedom There is joy You just need time Let me buy it for you! Buy it from the bullying parents! From our phobic government! From the Christian bigots! All the latter wants is money  All the former wants is a false promise to know they didn’t fail Let me buy time I want to pay God But I only see Her on the Cross Because I know She is with you in your suffering She will always embrace you But how will you know If you do not have time? The Part of My Body HRT Helped the Most The part of my body HRT helped the most Was not my breasts (regrettably) Or my butt (It shrunk!) Or my face (Still l...
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There's No Crying In Church (Our Bodies Are Not Our Own)

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  I haven't had many awful days as a trans woman but Saturday was shaping up to be one. I woke up to the horrifying news out of Venezuela, another moment of political exhaustion and frustration. I try not to talk politics too much in this space; I have plenty of opinions but nothing of value that you can't get elsewhere. I lift this up because even by the standards of the last twelve months, what happened felt exceptionally odious.    On a mezzo level, there was another horror that, while not as devastating, was personal. A trans woman with a large social media following wrote a thread on BlueSky in which she was prepared to delete her account. Long story short: her photos on her socials had been co-opted by some creep on X and transformed into nudes by Grok. The woman shared her story of being a survivor, how hard the recovery was, how difficult it still felt to claim bodily autonomy after all this time and how his actions brought it all back.  Two incidents with on...
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I Wear Red On Christmas Eve

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  I wear red on Christmas Eve For you and for me Why is red the big color on Christmas? (I digress)   We go to church And it takes me back to when I was 12.  The sights, the sounds, the smells Even for a trans woman Church feels safe   You’re with me And you’re looking so beautiful I try to outdo you In my red, my cashmere jacket, my boots I fail There is no outdoing you.   I wear red on Christmas Eve In hopes that we will kiss   And we’ll go to a party And they’ll say “Where were you?” “Church” “Church? Two lesbians?” And we’ll just laugh Because we know the joys God brings Are beyond the boundaries set by men   After all, God brought us together Did She not?   We sit by the fire (A fake one, please) And sip something Mulled wine Spiked egg nogg Your choice And we cuddle And we dream Of a better world Of being grateful for a beautiful night in this one I can hear your heart beating And I won’t let myself believe it’s for me No matter how many tim...
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The Paths We Take

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  When my grandmother died back in February, my first thought was relief. She had been ill for some time and her mind had started slipping before that. Once a lively, vivacious person, she could barely recognize her great grandchildren and spent most of her days in contented silence. I saw her two weeks before she died to say goodbye; she actually looked really good and I thought that I might see her again. But things turned quickly. Thankfully, I got the chance to tell her I love her on the phone one last time. The next day, she passed. My second thought was an incredible sadness. It has not really dissipated and is felt more acutely this time of year. And really all year as I've stared my existence in the mirror and at last, dared myself to do better for me. I miss her more than I thought I would, my grief for her inseparable with my transition. My grandmother was the person for whom the term “social butterfly” exists. She was a faithful church attendee, though I think that was m...
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Skincare as Liturgy

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  It wasn't until I was well in my 30s that I stopped thinking of worship as boring.  That might be a surprising thing to hear from a clergy person but it's true. I love the hymns, I love preaching, I love the sacraments but the confessional bits, creeds, words of institution have always felt rote and boring. I get why kids hate it...I hated it as a kid even if I had to "be a good boy" and suffer through without complaining.  But as you get older, your brain slows down, your life slows down and you appreciate things in a different way. The small things matter. You realize the gift it is to experience life with patience and deliberation. The traditional word for Christian worship is "liturgy." It's often misunderstood and extrapolated from context as something grander than it is. Having roots in Koine Greek, liturgy or "leiturgia," simply means "the work of the people." As is common with Greek, you have to parse the sentence in order t...
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11:59 Forever

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 A Halloween poem... It’s Halloween night and you’re 16 Coming off a boring shift at the grocery store And looking forward to doing nothing and falling asleep   You hear the kids outside It sounds like fun Fun has never been for you   But you see someone enter the dark space to your room It’s you, it’s me! You don’t believe… I’m in a long black robe with a black wig And my eyes and lips are painted Our eyes and lips are painted No they’ll laugh at you   But I smile “I know you Allison __ Shuttup, yes, you are Allison Take my hand” I extend it   You’re too scared You love the comfort and safety    So fuck it I GRAB your hand…   And we are here Halloween night The West Village 24 years later   When people asked what my costume was I didn't know what to say at first Eventually, it came to me... I am the ghost of Halloween past That was queer magic That was you, at last getting to have fun   Let’s go in this bar And see…   And see! See ...
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