What would it have meant for us
if I never told you?
Or if I had tried harder,
folded my body up and up again,
if I had gotten sick that night,
if my air conditioner
didn’t break in Mississippi May?
What I want to tell you: what it meant to me then
is different from what it means to me now.
What it means to me now is agency, not love.
Finally telling the truth about everything, really.
A sigh of relief from being known.
A season where I couldn’t hide, where I had
to acknowledge that I, too, had a life.