The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Lineage by Emily Holland

Why I Can’t Say the Word Lesbian Without Thinking of My Therapist

At Sarah’s thirteenth birthday party, someone
said Your mom is—what
Your mom is—sinner
is abomination is
the thing God warned us about.
There must be something
in the blood insoluble—
how it turns red when touched by oxygen,
we, too, turn from God
when touched
by someone like her.
. . .
Prom night, after dancing, someone said
Your sister is—what
Your sister is—acting different
cut her beautiful brown hair
down to the root,
pruned it back
so far it might not grow again,
acting less feminine, more
in control.
. . .
My first year at college
someone said You are—what
You are—lesbo
descendant of dyke,
divergence in a long lineage
of choice. Tainted bloodline.
Desire never matters here.
These are the choices passed down to us. To be
or to become
or to have always been.
These are what we call signs only
in hindsight:
smell of bubblegum chapstick sharing a sleeping bag
tasting a drop of her sweat after a scuffle on the court
wanting to hold her hand yes but what