Poetry by Dorian Firestone

Trigger warning: mention of the ex-gay Christian movement.

My Wife Oh how I revel in the word. Wife Feel it's full, divine sapphic glory. And what a woman. She’s a standard she/they with a special kind of magic. They buy lavender out milk lattes from Starbucks and read communist theory. Suddenly marriage doesn’t sound so bad. A wedding doesn’t sound like my speed, But we don’t need that shit. Just give me our picnics, your handmade clothes, Reading on the couch during a rainy day, taking Mr. Noodle to the vet, The freckles on your cheeks, the way your eyes scrunch up when you laugh, Doing our laundry, our Squishmallow collection, watching you paint little frogs, The lesbian flag hung in our room even though I’m not sure it applies anymore. The purple stains on our bathtub from one of your failed hair dye attempts. And the thing is, I’m so happy. I’m in love I’m so in love I could fucking cry. She keeps me up at night because I have to turn to the page, see what happens They’re the sun, the stars, the moon, every tarot card in the fucking deck, baby. How sacred a being, how holy a union. I see what those Christians meant now.

Your Husband When I was in high school they made us watch ex-gay videos. It was the only time I got to see representation outside of a joke. I felt violated on behalf of those lesbians with husbands and children. That could never be me I vowed. I would rather die than find salvation. I swore I would never be a wife, I would never have a husband, never But here we are, laughing with your head on my chest, you in my arms And I have never felt more masculine. In our apartment I’m just a man. Like I never expected, never thought was possible. No questions asked. Let me tell you: having a husband? pure terror. But being the husband??? I must be twelve years old or some shit because she’s got me red all over, laughing and running away so my friends don’t see me so genuinely happy. I have a wife and it’s just that simple. I have a wife, a wife I don’t have to be. I get to be a blob, an orb, just a piece of consciousness with a wife. A person who want to put their personhood next to mine

Dorian Firestone (he/they) is a Hope-biased poet and short fiction writer who is currently completing his undergrad in Cleveland, Ohio. He brings his experience as a genderfluid, autistic queer to his poems that discuss suffering in Walmarts, corrupted love, and intricacy of being not-cishet in this era.