Queer fear

A dorm-mate, dark eyes, bared teeth
big boned
glared at me, turned to me seething
“you touch me and Iwill kill you.”
I smelled danger
though quipped
“Don’t flatter yourself”
I steered clear for months.

In Boston’s cityscapes
we watched outselves being watched
to back doors of church basements
for safe gatherings
to the dyke bar in the dark street closed down
in the financial district after hours
to the upscale restaurant bar parading as a business wimmins network
just had to dress the part
from the car to the bar we held our breath
from the bar to the car, belted, locked in,
we cheered our exhilaration and relief
they cannot stop our night of dancing close and sweaty.

At work, as a teacher
hate mail in my mailbox
I make demands on the principal.
On the street the teens holler
“DYKE!”
I calmly stroll to them
letting them know they are right and can I help you?
At the convenience store my foot bumps the door
of a woman leaving, three kids in tow
“FUCKING DYKE!” she yells
in my face
I amble behind her to her car
Excuse me is that how you want
your kids to see you?
I leave.

I am the principal holding a rampaging 8 year old
who spits in my face
“You fucking dyke cunt!”
yes, he’s 8
His father will arrive soon, equally amped
threatening to punch me
I use my indoor voice
He leaves.

Fear makes me angry.
Anger fuels me to act.
When there is something I can do,
I can be calm.

Fifty years figuring out these responses.
BUT THIS!
shootings
the daily list, accountings
the keenings, the tributes
the litany of queer lives destroyed
like the childhood backyard game
Smear the Queer we yelled. we didnt know.

This
is
pure unadulterated
HATE.

This scares me and I have
no ideas
for right action
so my anger
does not protect me.