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