CROSS-DRESSING FOR GOD
Order isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Or isn’t all it’s cracked
up not to be. If you slip your legs into the silk panties
of gender, you see yourself looking at yourself
from the other side. Is it really that much different?
It’s one thing to have a world view, but another to find
yourself in the viewfinder. Think of borders,
what is mine, what is yours. And it all goes to hell. You are in
the bloody puddle between flames of self-immolation
and the arc of unbridled rage. How would it feel now
to apply red lipstick, put on some blowsy dress and collapse
across his rumpled bed. Or hers. Does it matter?
Don’t we all just want a body we can call home? God will fall
for you. Especially if you scissor the invisible
line that divides high heels from wingtips, the Promised Land
from Occupied Territory. Scatter the cats, the combs,
the worn-out conversations! Come on over, come on!
–Christine Hemp IMAGE: photo by Christine Hemp