but the caution tape was gone. You picked up a shard and dropped it into my bag. You later
placed it on one of our bookshelves where it caughtthe light and cast patches of distorted blue
onto the wall. I’d like to imagine it’s still there,but I know you rearrange things when you’re
upset. I’m sorry I upset you.
1 September 1969 Rodeway Inn, 1093 Airport Rd, Imperial,CA 92251
Kate. Sex with you made me believe in a higher poweragain. The first time we tried I
was too shy to relax. I wanted it, for sure, but wheneverwe tried my limbs turned to lead and my
body constricted into itself. Never doubt that I wantedit. I could lay down alright but whenever
you would try to guide my legs apart I would covermy face with my hands and apologize. You
would say “baby it’s okay” and stroke my calves, pressingkisses into my hips, waiting for me to
calm down. The first few attempts, I just couldn’tdo it and you just held me and shushed my
apologies. Thank you for that.
Before we moved in together and after a date to thecinema, we were drinking cheap wine
in your apartment and you told me about how your parentsleft you at your alcoholic aunt’s
house one night and never came back. The aunt likedto hit. The uncle tried to hurt you in other
ways. You ran away when you were fifteen to your friend’shouse, a friend that helped you figure
out you were a lesbian. Your friend who happened tolive with a bunch of other queer people in a
house run by two drag queens. It was in Harlem andit was warm and smelled like food and the
electricity never went out. No one hit. No one triedto hurt you in other ways. You got a job at
the cheap grill down the street so you could pay yourpart of the rent. Your voice didn’t waver
the entire time you spoke, just as strong as if tellinganother story at the bar. I listened, head on
your shoulder. “I would have kept you,” I told you.That will always be true.