Strange as angels
Dancing in the Winter dusk sky,
Sure as January Colorado concrete
‘Neath my moon-boots when I was five,
Silent and bundled, you,
Asleep the morning as I await your waking—
Hoping that I’d fall in love
for a while…
Mason. You. And Billy. The Trans Christian Conspiracy. Of grace.
Just like a dream.
And your brother’s, your mother’s
Sweetest hope: strange man me
Could offer you: someone to appreciate you, but—
Someone with the dignity of being a lover, not
A mother, nor
They understand that. The Trans Christian Conspiracy. Of grace.
To all the Trans men who have
Loved me before,
Those like a brother, but beyond that and—
To those who loved me
As a lover:
I have been, and always will be
In love with you, too.
It’s all your fault. Nobody saw me do it. You can’t prove anything.
Do the Bart-man. Do the Batman.
DC Universe is superior to Marvel.
Wonder Woman over Iron Man all day long.
And twice on Sunday.
And I’m gay though, even. So, there you go.
I was in Kindergarten; I sprained my ankle; the German teacher lady carried me, bawling, back to class.
1996, Professor Welecke was relieved to be back after his mother died. He said my rewritten essay was potentially brilliant.
I met Adrian early February 2001. Before 9/11. Just after Joey Ramone died. Adrian
Was so handsome at 28. I
Was 24, then.
I don’t remember which year Grandpa Garnel died. The poem I wrote for his funeral became legendary in Utah. My little sister was jealous. Of my three nieces, her daughter is the same kind of strange super smart I am..
I have been Mormon my whole life; I still am.
I am not LDS. I had my name removed from their records in my 20s. I might go back if they stop being homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. As church policy, all three.
I am ashamed of them on behalf of grandma Alice, her husband Garnel. They knew about my Tommislav. They were sad for me that it didn’t work out. That would have been after UCI; after 1997.
Alice and Garnel were good, Christian Mormons. They respected my Daoism as deeply religious. And that I graduated UCI. UCI: more prestigious than June’s BA, even. June, their daughter. My mother.
I have been Daoist since I was 18, and at 18 Joshua Blauvelt was my first boyfriend. Summer, 1995. My friend Joy introduced him to me. We broke up before Winter.
Daniel. UCI, 1996 Daniel. 2020 Summer Daniel. Both of them. I loved being in love with both of them.
Manhood is a secret, realized in its telling. Fatherhood, to a son, is the way he becomes obvious before you’re even five. Colorado. Moonboots. The Apple IIE computer my dad bought. Me.
Love is honesty, realized in being glad to be wounded so. Heartbroken. My heart has been so broken, it is more gold filling the cracks than heart by now.
Joshua. Daniel. The first one. Tommislav. My Tom. Not the Tom my sister married. I almost called once, ready to shout, “at least you got to keep your Tom. Who cares about my poem at grandpa’s funeral!”
Tommislav—my heart’s still broken over you. Twenty four years later. I will miss you past the day I die.
To all the trans men I’ve loved before.
(I was someone’s pale blue eyes, once.)