Friday, June 17, 2016

The Past Rubs the Present

It's quiet 
Only my thoughts disturb
a light wind, they catch
the shift of air, they ride 
my garden whirly-gig, spinning
past memories, a melange 
of places and ways to connect
If you wore plaid shirts, if you
wore work boots, if you knew 
the code you found one another
If you went to a tea dance, knew
the music, roamed a Womyn's
bookstore, read a paper the newsstand 
didn't carry, if you listened to womyn
read dyke poetry, you belonged
it's quiet
and I know that there are still dark 
places where being out 
needs a code 


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