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Newtown ain’t what it was in the nineties 


Walking alongside 
the ghosts of adolescent memories 
preserved like so many 
Pompeii corpses

in back lanes
alley ways
parks
and cemeteries
as though no time has passed. 

Holding the hand of the girl 
who learned fear and compliance 
at the hands 
of so many entitled jerks

“It’s ok”
I whisper to her
“I’m here now.”

“Together 
we can kick ‘em in the shins 
and run

to the underground dance party
where our people 
shine 
in their white singlets, nipples erect, freak flags flying high…”

My ghosts, they smile,
tears in their young wide eyes
as they squeeze my hand 
and nod
with the certainty they always deserved.
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We fell 

The states were closed to one another
As our hearts lit up 

A tiny window opened for us 
To sip from true love’s cup

We yearn and strive to feel close
With new laws holding us apart

We both stay home so far away 
When home is in each other’s heart

I long for you my darling one,
To feel your arms around me

To hear you whisper to my hair
Of all the things that should be

Hold on my love, and I will too
To the truth of our sweet story 

This pain we know is compost
For a garden full of glory

(C) Zoë Xanadu 2021

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Falling 

Keep up your routines 
They say
When at risk of falling hard and fast 

Ok

She tries

But this pesky pandemic
Has got her all locked down 

And the enforced extended distance builds a tension even greater 

Morning texts that go til lunchtime

Nap time fantasies abound

Phone calls filled with longing
So much longing 
They could only wish 
for a shortcut to the next tryst

Lips whisper through the ether
Of desires yet unmet 

Something showstoppingly stunning 
grows as Spring approaches

But what it is feels jostled
By this other 
Discomfort 


This insistent presence 
of an isolating threat 

delaying 
delaying
delaying 

How delicious can torture really be?
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Out

Out.

I’m out.

Mum, I’m gay, 

I texted her.

That’s nice dear.  

As in you’ve renamed yourself, or like two poofy men?

Homphobic bitch.

Out.

I’m out.

Striding through the Autumn morning in my walking shoes

Seeking solace in the beauty outside me

from the rage that churns within

The grey blanket of the pre-dawn sky warms me not, 

but offers me great comfort,

with the reassuring reminder that I am 

at once 

infinitesimal

and as expansive as the universe

A blush emerges as the sun comes back from the other side of the world, busy tart

A suggestive apricot, fuzzy and without edges, and with the optimism of Alabama Whitman

“She tastes like a peach”

how truly did I want to taste her mouth

Still I stride, breathing through my swirling truth

And now, somehow, streaks of pink and blue

Audacious as those marine creatures that you think have surely been exaggerated 

in the artist’s depiction

I can even forgive my ancestors for believing in sky god

Out.

I’m out.

Here under this cracking morning sky, remembering to notice the beauty of the universe.

Mary Oliver eat your heart out!

Savour those juices as they stream down your chin

Rivulets forming in your cleavage invitationally 

for another lover 

of life to slurp at

Yum.

Mum, I like to lick life juice off the tits of women poets.

Still I stride, rounding the corner, home comes into view.

And in the valley beyond, down over the town to the west

The sun, my current favourite artist, has invited the morning mist to dance.

A rainbow!

My queer little heart opens in bliss.

Life really does love me!

And I love her right back, 

most Sapphically indeed.

Copyright 2021.