I will not say here, 'no more happy ends.'
I won't presume to undercut the need
For stories of queer heroes of queer worlds
Where homophobia has never been.
For gods of sunset, moon, and winter know
That if no tale but such as these were told
From now until the day I breathe my last
It would not serve to mend the deficit.
Let tales of worlds where homophobia
Is not, has never been, and never will,
Be told. Let them abound and multiply,
And fill the too-straight world, and it subdue.
Let prince love prince, let princess princess save.
Let warriors own of no gender but war.
For each tale, after all, will be the one
For someone, that first opens up their eyes
To see as in a darkling glass, themselves.
And yet. If tales but such as these were told
From now until the day I breathe my last
And none besides, why, I would breathe my last
Believing that the life that I had lived
Was not a life, and all the love I'd loved
Was not entirely love. How could they be?
The lives and loves of all my heroes would
Be lived and loved in worlds too bright for me.
Too just. Too perfect. Far too welcoming.
Their shining worlds where homophobia
Is not, has never been, and never will,
Could have no place in them for such as I.
Behold my history, all dour disowned.
Behold my heart, by sword of sorrow pierced.
This is my body, old before its time.
This is my blood, which I cannot donate.
As in the days when out of Hamelin town
The sons and daughters, by unearthly song,
Were led on paths unnamable and strange
Into a paradise of innocence,
Save one. Just so my soul is long since lamed
By grieving for my griefs, by growing in
Closets too cramped to ever stand up straight.
I cannot walk as fast. I reach the gates
Of Bergentruckung only just in time
To see the shining world where all my woes
At weary last be laid to weary rest
Before the door shuts fast. And I alone
Escape to tell thee: aye, I yet remain
In this same world where homophobia
Is yet, has ever been, and likely shall
Outlast the day I draw my final breath.
So let there too be stories of this world.
Let love admit of base impurities.
Let prince love prince, but furtively, at some
Discreet motel room at the county line.
Let princess save princess, from homelessness
In flight from foul conversion therapy.
Let warrior own of no gender but war
Against the bulk of laws heteronorm.
And aye, let tales of perfect other worlds
Be told as well. We have yet need of them.
Alongside tragedy. Alongside grief.
Alongside seedy and outright unchaste.
Alongside bitter, dark, unhealthy, grim:
Not to be emulated, yet still seen
And recognized. For which of us have not
Beheld such, in a dark glass, in ourselves?
Yes, tell me stories of how love should be,
Should have been always, and has never been.
But tell me also tales of how love is.
And how perforce it likely will remain.
Let not it be that all our stories are
Of worlds where homophobia is not,
For none of us will ever live in one.
I do not say here 'no more happy ends.'
I rather say 'put some within my reach.'
For, gods of sunset, moon, and winter know,
That reach is not as long as it should be.
No comments yet. Be the first!