Queer Joy
I’ll tell you about queer joy. I’ll feel queer joy when he is six feet in the dirt and when people hear his name they think fraud first and man second. I’ll feel queer joy when I can stop worrying about the lives of my sisters—the bishop said mercy, mercy for our children. Mercy for those who lived and are only known for how they died. Evil never sleeps so the work never stops & every day it’s the work, the good work, the heart and back breaking work. I’m tired of knowing my fucking rights and pleading the fucking fifth and officer she was only fucking fourteen. I won’t ask and I won’t tell and I’ll speak no evil but god many times do I need to say their names to bring them all back and let them feel the grass between their fingers and the dewdrops resting in another Spring. I know to never close my eyes and keep them wide open—all eyes on Gaza, on Chicago, on Houston city, the lone star of my heart. Doctor, I hear crying and I think it’s coming from me. Doctor, is this enough queer fucking joy for you.