In the Company of Angels

I keep the photo in a box,

the box that my grandmother

gave me one Christmas,

the box that holds a single

glass angel ornament with golden trim.

I tuck the picture

underneath the angel

for safe keeping.

The photograph captures

the Christmas that you

spent with us 18 years ago

in Nashville.

This is the first Christmas

that Grand is no longer with us,

and the first Christmas 

that the two of you,

complete strangers,

will somehow keep each other

company.

One Shot

Sometimes it takes
funerals and surgeries
to remind us
that we are not simply
co-workers and clients,
bosses and hires,
employees and employers,
customers and providers.
We are not corporate machines,
lifeless clones or drones
devoid of hearts and hopes and homes.
We are
sons and daughters,
sisters and brothers,
mothers and fathers,
husbands and wives,
partners and friends,
guardians and grandparents.
We are humans
each with one shot
at this brief
and precious life.

The Painful Irony

Here I sit,
in my den,
reading Mary's latest book,
knowing that you,
five miles away,
are likely reading
one of Mary's books.
Though we may read
from the same books,
we are not
on the same page.
Though we share
much in common,
you allow one thing,
on which we disagree,
to keep us
from sharing
our lives together.
The irony is,
you likely feel
the exact same way
about me.

Turning

There is nothing left
but bone --
no more skin,
no more muscle,
no more ligaments.
Just bone.

I've sat here
for nearly 40 years
bleeding
love,
joy,
peace,
patience,
kindness,
goodness,
faithfulness,
gentleness
and self-control
while you --
slap by slap,
blow by blow,
year by year --
stripped away
my flesh,
my heart,
my soul.

Today, I realized
that the pain
will never stop
as long as I
stay here.
Gripping the back
of the pew in front of me,
I manage to
stand to my feet
and slowly
find the exit
as you shout
in shock and outrage,
"But I love you!"
as the sound waves
bounce around
in the empty cavity

of my second cheek. 

A Letter to the Predator

Dear straight Christian friend,

When you post a picture of
a burning gay pride flag online,
I am not merely encountering
an expression of an opinion.
I don't simply see a person
making a statement
about an issue.
I don't view it as
an individual "deeply devoted
to a faith based on mercy and grace"
taking a stand amidst a culture war.

I see my friend
advocating -- and perpetrating --
violence against me.
I feel threatened
and frightened
and sickened.
I see -- with my own eyes --
my friend proclaiming
to me and the world
that I am worthy of abuse.
I witness my friend
declaring me fit for
gasoline
and matches
and burning flesh
and torture
and death.

I see that my friend --
my "loving, compassionate, Christ-like" friend --
is not, in fact, my friend at all.

-- Your gay neighbor

I Knew You Enough (Your Big, Beautiful Brilliance)

In remembrance of Celeste

I didn't know you well,
but I knew you enough.
I knew you enough
to miss your big, brown eyes --
eyes that lit up a room
almost as much
as your broad, beautiful smile.
I knew you enough
to miss the fresh perspective
and lighthearted laughter
that you brought
to every corporate meeting
and every friendly conversation.
I knew you enough
to miss the strength and brilliance
you brought to the world
as a woman; as a minority,
and the sense of pride
and courage I felt
as you enlightened
and inspired us all.
I knew you enough
to feel the weight
of the loss
of you
and your big, beautiful brilliance.
I knew you enough
to miss you now.

(After the funeral)

After the funeral
I searched my inbox
for any messages I still had from her.

Jitters

It didn't last long.
And I'm sure

the sterile, hospital-

flavored walls and

floors didn't help.

The java joint's decor

was more akin

to a church

romper room

than a hip, cozy hang.

Failures aside,

every time I pass

that office space

in my college town,

I remember the

Styrofoam cups of

espresso I drank there

with my rock

band buddies

as we played

Uno and laughed

'til closing time.

The Lord Giveth and His People Taketh Away

You threw me away
like an unwanted fetus.
I was too much trouble,
too much hassle,
too inconvenient.
I didn’t fit into your
busy, respectable life.
I was too big of a
problem to fit into your
Bible-themed day planner.
Jesus said that God cares
for even the pigeons,
but you don’t have
a second more for me.
You ripped me out of a
warm womb, my heart
still beating, with “Christian”
forceps so cold and a
glare so glazed
they would make
any abortionist wince.

Folks

Roommates are strangers
who become friends
who become family.

Family members are roommates
who become friends
who are strange.

Exes are friends
who become family
who become strangers.

Note: Originally, this poem was separated into three pieces (Folks #1, Folks #2 and Folks #3). These days, I often read the three together as one piece (Folks) at poetry events.

(the elevator)

the elevator:
the only place the "code"
allows her to speak to me

Unglued

Yesterday I repaired
the bracelet you bought
for my 30th birthday
with super glue.
That icy February day
seems light years away
from today's August steam.
If only our estrangement
could be resolved as easily.

Summer Simplicity

As summer begins to
close her eyes in
exchange for fall's
awakening, I want
to remember these
days; what it feels
like to slip into
sandals, and hop into
the car without a
jacket and drive to
meet some friends
with Tennessee's green
hills in front of me and
the sun on my back.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Return of the Herons

They prefer to come out at night
by the light of the moon
when they have a captive audience
on a Tennessee patio deck
at the end of summer.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Freedom Friday

for Angela and Julie

I remember our evening at
Laguna Beach -- the perfect
blend of sun and breeze,
fish and avocado on the patio,
the lively waves sneaking
up on us and our rolled-up
pant legs, happy dogs
walking their owners, the
sparkling sand drying on
our feet -- all reminders of
the vastness of the
goodness of our Father.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(happiness is)

happiness is
sushi and ice cream
with a friend

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(mention of the "M word")

mention of the "M word"
giving me the shivers
on Rosa's couch

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(how I know that)

how I know that
she's awake: her
trademark sniffle

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

A Beautiful Sisterhood

for Lindsay and Joanne

There is nothing like the
tender kindness of a sister,
the delicate care of a friend.
I had never known this kind
of joy

before now,

this kind of pure delight that
frees my heart to be me in the
fullness of beauty and to rest
in the able arms of sisterhood.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Roommates Who Write

We meet in the kitchen --
she for her cereal and
me for my soup --
sharing a few words
before we retreat to
our respective quarters
and continue our writing.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall