DYKE

Dyke is loveDyke isThe spiral notebook under your mattress that weeps and moans and laughsand the deleted internet historyand the pride you feel even as you hideDyke is marching at Prideknowing that you areunited with the queersadmitted to a communitybecause you are a dykeand wondering if that may be ridiculousDyke is smashing gender rolesreclaiming words, labelsand breaking free of themDyke is drag kings and evening gownsMothers, daughters, familiesComing out, being outed, closet casesHesitating, deliberatingQuestioning, persistingDyke is falling in love with a person, not a genderand falling in love with a gender while searching for a personDyke is writing an essay exposing you to your professor and peerslike a mollusk being opened, exposing it's pale, vulnerable innardsthat you knew had been contained withinbut were still protected with a shroud of secrecyDyke is giving your partner long kisses goodbye at the bus stopCandlelit dinners and bar cruisingAnd knowing when you are single you remain a dykeDyke isThe lonely desperation of small-town isolationwearing rainbow jewelery and protest pins hoping someone will noticeor you'll see someone with them tooDyke is being who you areA womanA woman who loves other womanA woman who wouldn't want it any other wayDyke is beautifulDyke is who I am Dyke is love