Peter LaBerge’s poem resonates painfully with the Orlando shooting and with the broader culture of LGBTQ victimization which enabled it.
—
In Defense of Driftwood
At midnight, I heard the bridge ask
to cross me, and I let it.
*
Driftwood fell in the river, then. If nobody
catches it, do we call it fallen?
No. We call it born. As in, the boy
was born crooked.
*
I cannot question this river
inside of me, so yes, I wore the heels.
I can only trawl to lift what I took
and weighed with stones.
*
I can’t deepen the world without a second mouth.
***
Editor’s Note: This poem was not originally scheduled to run today. After the June 12th shooting in Orlando, I felt it was necessary to print something which might give some of us a few words through which we can channel our grief and contextualize the continuing pattern of violence against LGBTQ folk.
Originally published in Copper Nickel.
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