Hourglass, Handmade c. 1994

I wonder if they know that I could have been born Nicholas,

Or that my Lola let me drink my bottle until I was three,

And maybe that was why I had a gap between my two front teeth.

Perhaps they'd attribute my eccentricity to Slurpees every day after kindergarten,

Or Lolo spanking me after I tipped over our game of checkers.

If I hadn't seen my father play so many softball tournaments,

Maybe I wouldn't have been at second base a long eleven years,

Or developed a distaste for the beer they let me try,

And never felt the hint of a buzz until I turned eighteen.

I wonder if being uprooted at five made me more adaptable,

Or just confused with a horrible sense of direction.

If getting jealous of how beautiful and popular my older cousins are

Made me hungry for attention,

And a little brother to adore me.

I wonder if the Disney movies gave me unrealistic expectations:

Grow up, prom queen, fame and fortune, true love,

That underdogs take it all in the end,

Even though I knew as a child I was ugly,

“Eighth grade baby lesbian me,” I tell them,

Before it all went downhill:

Scabby scars on wrists, pills that almost hit my lips,

Until I finally got help after the Robby fiasco

(Which nearly ended in suicide by traffic),

And found friends who wouldn't walk out.

I wonder if they know that I am a product of a successful marriage,

A stout brown man with a thick mustache, Mexican maybe?

Also his wife Georgina, the cool mom, quietly stressed and menopausal,

As well as my nervous, virtuous brother,

Who gasps when people swear

And blushes around blonde girls.

Maybe then they would see that I eat my pizza crust-first,

And not just because I'm seeing the delivery boy from Pizza My Heart,

And that I write poetry because I am made from mosaic and feathery finger-quills,

They would see I put myself back together with a tube of red lipstick,

Paste a grin on, minus sequins,

And hold my head high,

As if I am the nightclub crooner,

And they are my crowd.

Maybe they will see that I am a child of stardust, of galaxies far, far away,

Of teddy bears and mermaids and the smell of rained-on earth,

Softballs and freshly-cut grass, Eleanor Rigby on the stereo.

That I am a child of dreams trumping reality,

And that the hourglass the sandman carefully crafted,

He crafted for me.