Today, thanks to the progress we have made over the years, a woman need not leave her entire life behind and adopt a new one in order to be involved with another woman. Twenty to thirty-five years ago, the only way one could act on a desire to love a woman was usually to find and join an underground community and to adopt its ways in total no matter how rigid they might be. Only within the past generation has it been possible to be out of the closet with any modicum of safety anywhere. Historically, we are just beginning to emerge from an age in which lesbianism has had to be hidden for the sake of survival. I want to be given as a holiday or graduation present to someone’s kid, I want to be given as a housewarming gift as a reminder of home.Īnd god, then, hopefully some day, I want to roll off the table, I want that globe to crack.Īnd then I want to haunt the living shit out of the future.
I want to be packed in newspaper carefully when they move. I want to be warm from sunlight or chilly from the cool air. I want to inspire people and make them smile. I want an artist to leave me on their worktable. I want a witch to buy me and put me in her work room. I want someone to take a picture of me with the moon behind me, luminous and mysterious. I want to cast beautiful, fractious and curving sunlight across the wall, sparkling and glowing and shimmering, depending on the time of day. I want someone to buy my ashes for $4.99 and put me in a window and love the colors. I want to be given away, and put out in a thriftstore somewhere. I want people to forget that I’m in there, I want the memory of what I am to pass out of the family’s knowledge. I want to live in the home of someone who loved me, and touched now and then in silent memory. I want to be something treasured for a long time and rarely talked about. Like, I want to be made into a beautiful glass thing. Welp, this is just about all I want in death.
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