In response to this article.
Maybe it wasn’t love, then.
Maybe it had nothing to do with that warm,
heavy, slightly scented night, our first
night on campus, and nothing to do
with the curls of her warm, heavy,
slightly scented hair, darker than
the grass under our feet.
Of course if it wasn’t love
the other things
have to go too, like our
first date at the soup kitchen,
her oniony hand touching
my shoulder for the smallest instant
before she turned back to chopping
It was not my intention
to offend. I am not a diamond
but an agate, small and layered,
circled with red and white,
and maybe this is all my fault
because I chose to be an agate,
I chose to grate my shell
against the beach.
Maybe I cannot love
at all. Some people
have mistreated homosexuals
in the past, and after all, to differ
is not to hate. Some
people look at the moonlight
and see darkness.