*I used some quotes from reports
of stonewall so if you don't like
gay-slurs of any kind i do use them & wanted
readers to be aware of that*

let's meet in the summer of 1969

when neither of us were ideas 
yet & we get to decide who
are family is--
when the june rattled in 
bricks & when they first planted
the pear tree
in the backyard of 
the house on regimental road--
this is before 
there were neighbors 
when all the wrinkles evacuated
our grandmother's faces & they 
were astounding & young--
still believed themselves 
eternal--
they sit in separate photographs
letting their skin
eat sun-- there's the one
on the endtable of her
with her sisters in mexico with bare
legs & thick sunglasses to
help her gaze into
a solar eclipse not coming
till september--
her sister flo has on a
yellow polka-dot dress
that reminds you of a picnic blanket
or a table clothe--
they eat tuna salad sandwiches & drink
cola & everything is
calm because cancer is quiet--
i want to meet in the summer of
1969 not to sit
in our grandmother's photographs
again but to know if we
would have stood outside
stonewall & watched
from a crowd--
there is the blood we keep in
photographs of & there is
a history we want to call our
mother-- contort the inn
windows like the crumpling
of paper to throw into a
waste basket--
When did you ever 
see a fag fight back?
we break the glass
of the picture frames-- skin
peach-blush, tender, & red
from sunburn--
summer was hot & our fathers
played with metal toy
cars on the living room
floor while everyone resolved
to be restless & hit back--
this is when our handcuffs become
too tight & where we decide 
to watch our father 
drink orange juice at the
dining room table of 
his aunt's house-- there is always
toast & eggs & milk &
sometimes a slab of ham--
we sit on a bench in
christoper park & 
everyone talks quiet & eager
& our grandmother is there
mixing a manhattan at
the bar-- in a night robe
she picks up our
father's metal cars--
sits in the plaid
arm-chair & turns on the television
to watch a screen striped with
color-- a flag
that has always signaled 
night &
the picture frames are 
broken so we can craw through
a newspaper--
paint ourselves to masquerade
as the fags we wanted to be--
the word is out
the word is out
& come september so
will be the sun