i.
find me the girl with a boy’s name,
but let even that be other
than it seems. she might look like a boy—
baseball cap and jeans, sneakers or
biker boots depending on the day,
but inside she’s a woman, this boy
with a girl’s name. oh conjure
me a woman no one knows
how to name, who likes artsy movies,
who cries to remember her ex
or at any sad memory, whose wrist flicks
when she hammers, who rarely tromps
through briars without someone ahead
of her, leading the way. find me the practical,
practicing artist who designs ads
for a newspaper, who looks after
her parents, who folds her clothes
carefully, who always has time
for a struggling friend.
ii.
in the world of my heart’s cravings,
she is the newest comer, the stranger-lover,
but her affection sweetens the air i breathe.
it makes the barometer of my days
fall continuously. i ask only
to accept this gift without
question, to stow my anchors
permanently, to let the sea carry me.
Ann Tweedy's first full-length book, The Body's Alphabet (Headmistress Press), earned a Bisexual Book Award and was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award. She has also published three chapbooks: Beleaguered Oases, White Out, and A Registry of Survival. Her poems have appeared in Rattle, Literary Mama, Clackamas Literary Review, Naugatuck River Review, and many other places, and she has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and five Best of the Net Awards. A law professor by day, Ann has devoted her career to serving Native Tribes. She teaches at University of South Dakota Knudson School of Law.
