Boston Pride 2016


Like Glitter for Ashes


So used to ashes, damp in the mud beneath trim

Trees adorned in scarlet and gold bangling

Leaves, I barely know how to recognize

The faerie glamour when I see it, as if all

The glitter falling through the cool air was inevitably

Falling for someone else: story of my life.


Even the air today scintillates, although

The sky is cloudy: mixed signals, also the story

Of my life. Relying on the old standard plot

(Boy meets girl, girl pursues, boy flees), I would once

Have found frustration here, the logs damp,

The scattering of twigs and balled-up newsprint


The makings of an unlightable fire.

Instead, this time, I let the glitter fall

On my hands, my face. The world shines

With more than one or two colors–the greys,

The blues. Now there is also pink and lilac,

Spring green like leafs in their infancy,


Orange like a warning, and that old classic,

Imperial purple. Shimmering with suggestions

Of color, bubbles rise like balloons.

Music beats, my breastbone vibrates.

All around me, women join the tribal dance.

I shimmer all the new colors, join the dance.

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