The Lesbian Poem
Do you remember that golden afternoon in June
when we rowed the red canoe across Your Lake
and spoke mostly about spiders? The clouds curled
above us like thick cream in a cup of turquoise tea.
Your lips looked like two pieces of pink marzipan.
I imagined turning gay was like the slow overtaking
of AIDS or dementia. I would write poems and destroy
them with fire. The smoke would rise like the spirits
of black hawks flying in slow circles.
At night in bed, I would fantasize about you the way
one fantasizes about drowning. Afterward, I thought
of women who chop their hair short and shapeless.
I would fall asleep to visions of lesbians branding
their bodies with rainbow strips, declaring themselves.
Then one day you traced my eyebrow with the pad
of your thumb as if you were smoothing a groove
on the mound of clay you were sculpting into a woman.
I was so frightened I had no idea it was finally happening.
I Saw You Sing Tears For Fears at Karaoke and Was Embarrassed for You
On rainy days, we could not meet
in the century-old rose garden
hidden behind the fine art museum.
The most distant bench from the exit.
With luck, beneath arched roses
pink as the inside of my mouth,
we would sit and discuss the
weather: sunny. finally. today.
Now, on rainy days I remember
finding six four-leafed-clovers
while the sun set heavy gold
around us. (Funny how time flies.)
I have lost count of poems
I wrote describing my heart
cooling to thick glass and
the sick never-bottom sinking.
Do not throw it away. Listen:
it is still raining behind the fine
art museum, the pink rose garden.
Shirin Abedinirad, Reflective Portal, 2024. Public art, Nanhai District, Foshan, China. Presented at Art Field Nanhai 2024, the work draws on the mirrored architecture of Persepolis and the spiritual imagery of Rumi’s poetry, using polished stainless steel to create an infinite passage of reflection, light, nature, and self-discovery. Photography by Tian Fangfang. Artwork courtesy of featured artist Shirin Abedinirad.
