We’ll be standing on the rough
carpet of the church I used to call
and their eyes will dim at the news.
They’ll roll it around their mouths
like stones in the riverway,
the heavy truth of it clacking against their teeth.
(soon too, I think)
their whispers of my shame
and greet me at the foot of the altar.
“Don't you know better?”
“Didn’t we raise you better?”
When they refuse to join me
to my lover’s hands,
You will not fight for me.
Someday when they peer
through the paper thin disguise
You swore was protection,
because no daughter of yours could ever be talk of the town.
When they see who I am and demand that I wear someone else’s skin,
will insist I practice shapeshifting.
when I am a patchwork of other people’s desires,
someone else's scared, hasty stitches keeping me
You’ll swear that the price of the transformation was worth it because
You can only love me
What can anyone do with a love like that?
Edited by: Rachel Goulston