When I Spoke

1 When I spoke the words I am gay I had let them fester like blood on a prison cell wall. I hadn’t known that they would free themselves. They scaled the swollen gutter of my throat, and shot themselves right through Uncle Andy’s diaphragm, holding the air in lungs hostage so he had no words left of his own. He could only unfurl his vinegar lips to sputter silent thank you s across my brow. I kissed the darkness three times, because it stole those three merciless words from me before my Mother could. She told me that I would never survive a New York winter: Mother, painted face and gossamer cheeks. It wasn’t you walking down the hall to Economics, when you heard a familiar voice, a voice that told jokes you always laughed at in class, and he said:I can tolerate faggots, but if they flirt with me, I wouldn’t hesitate to beat them down.