Top Surgery

The breasts are gone.
Are you reborn?
Stronger, leaner, more confident?
Stripped of the mammalian reminders
Of paths untrodden.
Breasts.
Your breasts;
Full and heavy,
The hot weight your soul
Rejected.
Now you are free
And as I loved your breasts,
I will love your new chest,
Cannot wait for you to heal
And hold me tightly,
Closer to your heart
Than ever.
You are my love,
In any body
And finding you now,
After my long and winding journey
Fills me with gratitude.
Wake up and let me kiss you
And cry with relief.

1sagefemme

All Rights reserved 2016

“Gift”

“Gift”

Here I come, flying
On wings of cardboard
Crafted in my most creative moment
To rise and soar and rise again
On currents of exhaled
Prayers
See my arms open wide
My green eyes searching for you
Reach up, reach up,
graze my belly with your aching fingers
And listen to my laughter echoing through the trees…
Follow, follow, follow, I cry
And I will lead you to the place where you may rest
In my warm arms
And listen to the rapid beating of a heart well used to laughing.
Hold my hand and jump with me to the place of no regrets
Do not look for sorrow in the bushes,
But run fast and free though life with me.
We are in the middle of life now,
No longer the youngest,
Or prettiest, or strongest of our kind,
Yet we are wise.
We see the end of life on the horizon and know,
Know
That regret is worthless;
That infinitesimal moments matter
When eyes meet,
And passion bursts into being
Out of nothing,
From nowhere,
A gift.

1SageFemme © All rights reserved 2015

“Butch” a poem

Butch

I am a queer woman,
sexuality leaning hard left of center,
heart fluttering for a dying breed of boi-girls and athletes,
Girls rocking masculinity like music
A furious mash-up of rock and lullaby, muscle and emotion
They may or may not identify as “Butch,”
Purr in a girl’s ear,
Call me Zane, Jordan, Charlie, Mitch;
Walk in comfortable shoes polished to a glassy shine
Or mud-caked work boots and a wind-whipped work-man tan.
They have a thing about
Penises and
Breasts,
A relationship fraught with conflict and desire,
They love tits,
but not on themselves,
The shirts just don’t
fit
right,
They may have a penis in their
mind’s eye,
And sometimes in draw-string bags, in boxes, in drawers,
They like to strut,
Sideways smile at flirty girls,
Buy long-stemmed roses and dapper suits,
They are strong, and fragile,
and oh so complicated.
I love them all,
Want to be Femme for them
(A short-haired,
Small-breasted version
all my own)
Wear matching bras and panties,
Perfume and lipstick,
Catch their smiles in mason jars and line them up
On my window-sill
To remind me that this species
Still exists.
I want to wrap my arms around all of them,
Tell them how lovely they are,
Thank them for saving me from despair
For without them,
My desire would never find a mark.
I want to tell them,
Thank you.
Thank you for polishing those shoes,
Tying a double knot,
Doing bedside push-ups at night,
Perfecting that confident swagger,
Learning how to lead,
And being willing to follow.
Thank you for tolerating the bathroom stares,
For not putting on that goddamn bridesmaid’s dress,
For being such a good cook, or driver, or motorcycle rider,
Thank you for holding my purse,
For sitting in the shade with me,
Thank you for working so hard
On that hairstyle,
The top cropped, or spiked, or waved
Just so.
Thank you for not being afraid
To hold my hand,
And look up at me,
And tell me,
sincerely,
How much you like my heels.

1SageFemme © All rights reserved 2015