June 2, 2021

This past week was a week like any other. Or was it? One day was a stand-out. So much so that I wrote a poem.

June 2, 2021

Today is a day,
a momentous day.
I awoke to birds singing and sun shining
at 5:00 am.
I had food in the fridge and heat upon which
to cook it.
I gathered with friends for words of encouragement:
strength for the day.
Today is a momentous day.
It is one year to the day
that my son escaped,
finding space and a life
free from abuse.
A year of opportunities for us
to demonstrate our love,
our support,
our pride
for him, in him
for choosing life.
365 days of
grandparenting,
caring,
feeding,
talking,
crying,
living
as a family community.
Today is a momentous day.
I changed my name.
After forays into shifting from feminine to androgyny,
a new email with a new name
at work
to feel myself everywhere
to inhabit my sense of self
for all to see.
What’s in a name?
Everything.
Today is a momentous day.
I got a package!
Rare event in itself,
but this one noteworthy.
I got my first binder.
Not that kind of binder.
A garment to minimize the femininity of a body
long-accustomed to appearing a woman.
A magical vestment of metamorphosis
transforming body
and mind.
Today is a momentous day.
An idea was born
in response to a horrific discovery.
215 children found in a mass grave,
a hideous testament to a horrific time
in our country’s history.
I carefully dug 215 small stones
from the dirt in my garden,
where they’ve lain unseen, like those little ones.
Carefully counted, set aside now in the light.
Next will come washing,
water and care for each emblem,
playing the music familiar to their ears.
Then clothes:
orange in honour of Phyllis,
applied with care,
in community,
chatting like their grandmothers.
It doesn’t bring anyone back,
save anyone’s sorrow,
but the action helps
embody the unthinkable,
prayers for their families.
Today is a momentous day.
I woke,
I ate,
I worked,
I thought,
I felt,
I cried
I lived.