By Dale Heath
Ghosts
When I apply my make-up in the morning solitary
I see them behind me in the mirror,
While I consult with the busy mom about her son's homework in the afternoon
They stand back nodding,
As I speak haltingly on the phone to my father late into the evening
They poke and prod me,
And when I curl up fitfully next to the one who loves me most in the middle of the night
They sigh contentedly.
These ghosts are always present behind, in front, and beside me,
Wise spirits walking with me as
I navigate my contradictory streets and alleys,
Witnessing silently as I receive smiles from those who should hate me,
Watching over me as I survive another day, prospering against the odds,
Giving strength when hope inevitably deserts me.
I'm surrounded by ghosts,
Colorful spirits and apparitions,
Brave queers and militant queens,
Tough dykes and shy trannies,
Flamboyant and loud,
Tender and protective,
All shadows of past struggles and future fights
Sweeping across the country Like a slow moving wave
Changing everything in time
And giving me,
A solitary child
Standing alone amidst the corn rows,
That sliver of hope,
That kernel of knowledge,
That some day I may
Break off on my own path,
Proclaim my own truth,
Learn my own mind and
Make peace with my body,
To one day link hands with strangers
Both ghostly and alive,
Setting off on a wide path
Where we live vocally
In numbers too large to ignore, Finding ourselves together at last,
Standing under a ripe, open sun,
Marveling at how far we've come
And how far we've yet to travel.
Dale Heath is a transgender poet and librarian. She lives in Forest Park.