Stumbling Within the Language of the City
Stumbling through the language of the city,
I walked today
through the middle of a battlefield.
Blood.
Death.
Destruction.
And yet, tomorrow
will bring another new beginning.
A brooding, reverberating,
suffocating silence.
A shattered, broken world.
I plunge my hands into the earth
and paint a picture of revolution.
After a long life in exile,
I return to the village
and find how much
the homes and settlements have changed.
The traces of my childhood
are no longer there.
My eyes fill with tears.
Scattered, rough-edged pebbles,
broken branches of trees,
fragments of shells.
And yet, carrying all their mysteries
and adventures,
they return to me,
again and again.
wipe themselves
the tears in my eyes away.
For so long,
I have told the next generation
so many lies.
Now I have folded myself inward,
away from my own self.
Gender dysphoria,
distress, puberty blockers,
the search for gender identity,
hormone therapy.
Gender transition
continues to unfold
by individual choice.
Boys become girls,
girls become boys.
And even that
gives some people
a headache.
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