grace (ge) gilbert 
for awhile i made coming out my world

my freshly-wet solstice

rowing through the blue

homily of a life i felt these bones

an unencumbered

dirge

Then after the frozen

Lake gave way

to lightshow the gaudy

beveled christmas steeped

in Rainbows

my mother says

You just

don't want that

for your child.

on the radio are so

many BeeGee's songs

about fools

and they all last

forever

in our silence.

I want to rip it out of me,

my mortal coil,

one of the many

lasting architectures

of God,

that ashen highway

cul-de-sac

of guilt.

I imagine the life I'd lead there

as a coward.

Swans

a beach house

a child in the lawn.

I see the wisteria

our Crystal champagne

Flutes my mom

so proud

inspecting them.

the sign says Here

is the love

you might want

for your child.

So mild,

wide.

An aggregate Myth

with petals.
from the journal TYPO  
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This poem is the opening poem from my forthcoming chapbook, TODAY IS AN UNHOLY SUITE (Barrelhouse 2023), which takes on a single day’s edges of queerness, godlessness, and memory. This poem in particular is a dirge in me. There is an intense alienation, a deep melancholia that arrives with each holiday season. And yet, the love is the thing that bolsters that loneliness. I’m thinking of each and every person who knows what this feels like. And I’m wishing you the kind of unconditional love that sees you. 

grace (ge) gilbert on "Today Is Looking for the 'Right Moment'"
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