QUEER WOMAN FEELING TERROR SINCE 1992

The Boat

I remember crossing streets and climbing stairs
I remember your back to the wall
I remember your smile when I told you my name
I remember us connected by a tether
Trying to stay near but afraid of being too close
I remember my fingers on yours as we talked about music
I think I loved you then
Weeks, months, years
Across the waves of our time together
I remember less of each following day
I don't remember what we did for your birthday last year
Or the year before that
The days became a blur of trying to get to the next
Sickness and pain
Distance and pain
The distance I kept was a boat
Floating above the waves you were drowning in
While I kept my hand lowered to pull you up
Instead of jumping in and dragging you out
You never drowned, but I kept floating
I'm sorry

Haunting

I spend too much time
At my own grave
Listening in at my funeral
Haunting my wake
Wondering who will be there
What will they say
When I'm taken
By a man or a policy
When the cold thought settles in
That my funeral will be haunted by my killer
Not by me