A More Intimate Definition of Queerness

Over the years, I’ve found and misplaced my queerness over and over.

Photo by Logan Silkwood

A list of people, places, things, opportunities,
chunks of self suddenly or gradually lost to it
or found in it
was never enough
to hold onto this slippery word.

It was defined
or erased
by who I belonged to,
who you thought you spotted me with,
who I had or hadn’t touched.
Yet.

I’ve visualized it over a ledge,
into a tree,
in a foggy drink,
in a scratch,
in ice,
in emptiness,
in flowers wrapped around you,
in a loud painful sound,
in a silence.

In February,
something changed.

My queerness wasn’t
who I belonged to anymore.

It was a weight
I felt on my skin,
on my head,
in a stranger’s clenched jaw.