Inside the walls of the Columbia University Library
the quiet rustle of paper is comforting
stacks of books line the wooden shelves
lengthy words whisper ancient longings
from yellowed pages
the moments tick by
endless
mostly because I am not writing the text for the book
I am bound by law to write
the story of my life
turns incomplete
when I was ten
eleven
thirteen
where did I think I would be?
married
mother of two children
one boy/one girl
in that order
husband at hand
heart given over to an existence predestined
a familiar fantasy woven
grainy
onto black and white fixtures of fairies
and dreams made of angel dust
years later
the unwanted tales glint
far from true
reality finds me
legally unable to wed any of the ten or twelve women I have loved
or lost
—of two minds the question pops
bug-eyed and perplexing from my pen
the institution of marriage
has long offered privilege and power
to one class
while holding another at arm’s length
the strength and respect given over to any a union
is more often than not
legitimized
by one’s social shift up
or down or across the ladder of social belonging
poor people who marry non-American immigrants
cannot file for the non-resident partner
until they strike it rich enough to promise
the INS
(now homeland security)
that they can and will absorb the cost
of any unforeseen illness
or homelessness of said partner
marriage
has long provided wealth and voice to one sex
the merry institution in question
has been fucking the traditionally frocked spouse for centuries
for money
and housing
and the freedom to raise her own children
if some shit goes down with her man
she is likely to be victim to the parting experience
her resume will read
used
spoiled
broken vessel
undesired
in recent years
she might get something called alimony
but only if she has the dough to afford something called an expensive lawyer
as a lifetime onlooker of the process
I was always happy the possibility
of bridal showers
and ghastly gowns
never tolled any beady bells for me
until now
as the fight comes full and circles me
dyke
older
and making room for probable nurseries
and backyards for little girls
who may or may not be called Olivia something or other Mikiesky
as silver streaks like glitter ghosts themselves
through my hair
my history
popping the lesbian question
further complicates itself in my head
in my heart
the wagons move purposeful
and I am caught in the tracks
of a hypothetical toddler
needing the state sanctioned protection
of both mommies
in the absence of one I want to make sure
my child will be cared for by the other
brash and unwilling to concede
to conservatism
I sway indecisive
do we buy rings and walk aisles, my dear?
or do we work harder
to create something else that reflects
an ideal I may never see in my lifetime
should dykes marry or not?
should we partake in a process so antithetical to equality
to make our fragile lives less bitter
dare we assimilate?
or commit to breaking the existing mold?
nothing poetic about these questions
nothing pretty or pleasing about the choices we must make
as we age
as we climb up and down our own ladders of failures
victories
as we move full force into this new century
what politics will wear themselves
certain on our sleeves
or fingers
on the lives of children we so desperately want to have?
between the freedoms we dreamed
or won or imagined we won
is there something owed to the bodies
who remain least represented
most disenfranchised
farthest removed from our computers
our clocks
our matching bands of vows?
as we accumulate our mountains of things
rubber dicks
electric razors
houses
offspring
as we change our names
our sexes
our addresses
as we rise and gain the right to make avid use
of a corrupt system
specifically designed
to use and discard the most oppressed among us
how do we make sure we are still holding strong to the politics
of those radical voices that first stirred us to action?
how do we milk the patriarchal construct
and still have the right to call ourselves
feminists?
To respond go to myspace.com/staceyannchin.com
Posted by staceyann at October 31, 2006 05:42 PM