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closeup of ox in a field, looking up its nostrils

What Rude Magic Is This (A Poem)

With the background of how I wrote it. I didn’t know what to do with three poems I lost and half-forgot. Now I hear Jacob’s epiphany as a kind of rude magic. The poems come back to me.

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wildflowers silhouetted in sunlight in a field

The freedom to be left alone

We should have the choice, but we don’t always have it. In the past, when prompted to think about whether I’m ‘out’ or ‘queer,’ I’ve thought about the transgressive sense and about the meaning of visibility.

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three women walk hand-in-hand down a path by a meadow

When labels don’t feel right

She had two moms, and she didn’t like the word ‘straight’. If we have a stake in a shared outcome, we might avoid declaring how we’re different and separate from others, especially to imply our superiority.

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