I.

I have always thought love was a lesbian,
but I never told my father. I swallowed guilt

each time he apologized for his signature

on carbon copies of divorce papers.

And I should've told him, they weren't

supposed to ever get married in the first place.

II.

I watch my mother send every stereotype

of a male and female up into ashes. With

eyes the color of frozen fog, she sits in

the front with her girlfriend, a woman who

uses laughter to stitch the cuts of what it took

for her to get here. And for the very first time

I witness the most rebellious love. When they

kiss, it is like the sky envies their affection and

throws firebombs, burning the world near

them. Mimicking two airplanes, their engine

lips collide in sync. Their bodies compress
like a rib cage in the throat of a car crash.

III.
Some people feel they have to die in order

to live freely. 13 year olds open their flesh

with a bullets after school. Jump off bridges.

Hanging themselves in dorm rooms and from

barn rafters. Twitch from tree branches. These

are martyrs with hope boring into the bare palm

of their hands like spoiled acid. Surrendering to

a battle they never had control over anyway.

IV.

After leaving her girlfriend behind, my mother

remains in the car, wrecked. I look at the stars

and how they tuck under the sky’s skin and how

the arms of a moon can grab the body of a cloud.

It mocks their relationship. This is the love

that people kill themselves for. If anything,

I have learned not to ever question the

validity of vows that two women have to offer.

I wonder, if they have not legalized gay,

does that mean the love taught in my household is illegal?