// delicate stitch //

the white of my lace cotton socks // black rubber plimsolls // squeak on the varnished floor // yellow felt tip lines on cream recycled paper //     fragile      followed      with       freshly

sharpened pencil // learn my ABCs  

my first kiss behind the huts at school // his cheeks sucked in tight to make a tiny lipless pout // smashing my face on the paving // leaving fat drops blooming like red flowers on grey stone // three stitches 

a second kiss in the garden // her pale body delicate like antique lace under my hand // fleeing my mother's house // her sightless eyes // her needle fingers 

my rattling cough // mould trapped in tender lace    of    lung    //    a    parade    of   men   with

flaccid  dicks and fleshy bellies // no money // no food // the lace is my arm // delicately

sliced 

the lace is my wedding dress // the lace is the cowl  around  my  baby  face //  audibly popping

at quarter to midnight // the lace is my crumbling marriage // keeping me in place 

the first pride was a riot

from the horizon it must look like the end of all things —

conflagration, orange on black;

                                    a contortion of limbs,

                                    one moment pulling in unison

          and the next whirling against each other;

                  furious flesh

                      and its sweet bellow;

                                           a piano’s viking funeral,

                            attended only by torsos,

                                the mourners’ legs swallowed 

                                                   up in noise —

all are welcome:

                                              you curios;

                                                 you nameless of no-place;

                         you made inside out,

                                  holding your entrails in your hands —

                                         turn them in at the cloakroom;

we’ll watch your things while you dance.

marsha is giving out shots

                                        that taste like blood in your teeth;

                                                              there’s one for you.           

            drink deep.

                    sing like a sword in the forge.

1994

The line in that song where she sings                    You're a girl & I'm a boy

did more for my gender identity                  than anything before or since

This was 1994                                                                   just 21 & finding out

who I was & am                                                                     who I love & how

at the Uni queer disco before                   the T was added to the LGB Soc

my third girlfriend was President of                  standing watching waiting

checking everyone out just in case                 searching not for perfection

nor protection but a palpable                                          sense of validation

This was 1994                              halfway through the shame of Section 28

I went to my first Gay Pride that year                                in Brockwell Park

here I found my self my family                             my people my Protection

if & when I needed it                                                 You're a girl & I'm a boy

This was 1994                                               when Currie’s law failed to pass

the gay age of consent stalled at 18                          but no age of consent

for lesbians                                                                        still we did not exist

This was 1994                                                         when Jarman died of AIDS

before antiretrovirals came in                                         & we watched Blue

in pieces at the Phoenix Cinema                             You're a girl & I'm a boy

is my manifesto for love                    though sometimes we are both boys

& sometimes                                                                    we are both girls too

but I am not fixed                                                                I am a state of flux

I am GenderFux                                                                   I am not one thing

or another                                                                 alternating like electricity       

I am not sometimes this & sometimes that                              not either/or

I am fluid & peculiar                                                   I am everything at once

bubbles rising                                                               to the surface of a lake

confetti dancing                                                                      in the slipstream