So who wants to read a poem?

In My Humble Opinion
1

Instead of writing an essay on women in mesopotamia, I’ve decided to share this. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Although it’s based on quietgirl’s and my relationship, I exaggerated some things. Not much, but… yeah.
Shadow

I believe in two girls kissing
Which is why my good Christian girl mind can justify
This midnight detour to your house
Laid back in the boonies twenty minutes from anything except
Chicken houses, cornfields, liquor stores
And those KKK boys who ride around drunk in the streets with their
Flag-laden pickups because let’s face it
There’s nothing much to do here in the winter
And I’d rather be kissing you than bored

So my beat up station wagon becomes my chariot
And I drive the winding roads, knowing that you’ll not wake your father from the
Aftermaths of a six-pack or two
But still remembering how he said he’d fucking kill me while waving a shotgun
Because no daughter of his is a goddamn queer.
I see you from the shadows and fog
You rise like a pale phoenix in my headlights
Dive in the car
Rest your head against my shoulder
And as the friendly shadows hide us
I can’t help but believe that it’s because
They, too, believe in two girls kissing.

2

The Blizzard of ‘91
They towed your car because you parked
on the wrong side of the road
and while we were deep in the belly of the windowless library
a blizzard pounced on the prairie like a howling white beast
& snowplows slowly paraded in its wake.

My apartment is out there somewhere, in the featureless blow
a few fair weather blocks away, so I invite you over…
you had no where else to go.

With collars up and heads down we cross town,
curse, laugh, get blown off course,
stumble on a hidden curb, tumble in a drift,
finally shake ourselves like wet dogs in the foyer,
eyelashes heavy with melting snowflakes.

I offered you my new blue robe,
(which I secretly think goes well with your eyes,)
but you insist on the ratty white one
I’ve been meaning to throw away.

In the kitchen, we sat across the table
drinking cocoa, talking, hands not touching.
Matthew called to break our date
and you, self-conscious, moved out to the living room
and made circles with your breath on the frosty panes

Downstairs, the distant rumble of the dryer tumbling
our cold wet clothes rolling over each other
twined jeans sparking static electricity
your socks in my bra, my panties in your pocket
and the thump, thump, thump of your sneakers

Outside, snow drifts roll like frozen waves
looking down on a parkinglot of snowbound cars
from the tottering ledge of my couch
in no wise resembling a field of white roses
I close my eyes, and listen to something speak
with a howl outside my window
like something lost forever

I bring a wool blanket and down pillow
(both of which you’re allergic to) and
you make your narrow nest there.
the streetlights cast a feeble yellow glow
through the still swirling snow
as I crawl into bed alone
and quietly take off my mask.

I would have loved you, if only you had asked.