temporality of sapphic desire feat. a translucent magenta bic lighter

By Andrea Lianne Grabowski 

i see lighting, inhale --
& whisper, queer people are time travelers.
i said i hold on to the past, 
the almosts & the cracks & my folly, 
because i need something to
claim. as if i need to show
anyone proof of my 
belonging. 

i see lightning, inhale --
& whisper, i am safe.
my throat is raw &
dry from years of
hiding. i gulp the cold
water of vines on peeling doors 
& flowered linoleum. i 
walk over a marsh & think
there is such a life outside grief
for what you never had. i
follow unconditionality 
up crumbling stairs & believe 
that august can be something 
besides an anniversary.

i see lightning, inhale — 
& whisper, i deserve to let go. 
years warp & spin 
with the fireflies, & i give
the teenage girl inside me
the final drag. within this
pocket of quiet, maple
syrup over my fears,
there is no such thing
as shame. i listen
to the three-day-old memory
of my mother telling me,
maybe this is just the right timing.
that it took this long to tell her. 
to see the way she hugs her niece &
trust her. years warp & spin &
i give the future human inside me
permission to fall in love for real
next time.

---

Andrea Lianne Grabowski is a queer writer, white settler on Anishinaabe land, and recent graduate of Northwestern Michigan College. She has been on the literary staff of NMC Magazine and is editing her first novel. Her poetry is forthcoming in Honeyfire Literary Magazine, Sledgehammer Lit, and superfroot.