In Coming Out to My Mother by Hope Hill


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In Coming Out to My Mother

In coming out to my mother
she burst into,
I wish I could say
Confetti in the saddest Gay Pride Parade
but instead it’s tears,
Did He do this to you? she cries,
and I honestly don’t know which he she means.
The he I call father
or the he who took my body without asking.
Like my sexuality is the tsunami crashing down on her
after the earthquake of my abuse,
ripples, rumbling, toppling everything in it’s wake.
Like I was already epicenter and clung to you like a life raft
to avoid drowning.
I tell her,
that you and this are not something that happened to me.
Other than the fact that God, or the Universe, or Coincidence
took a sunbeam, gave it a heartbeat, opened its mouth to say hi to me one day
and I was undone, all rubble and waterlogged and wondering how in the hell I got here
and yes, you and I will probably end in disaster
and yes, my legs shake when you and I are in the same room
but this is not a cautionary tale about how Once there was a rapist
and in the end two queers fall in love.
This isn’t the story of the girl with Daddy issues becoming bisexual out of spite.
This is about how before you love was
sirens and FEMA, rising water,
the ground and my heart split open,
my falling into the cracks slowing dying of exposure
and now, together, we are Earthquake proof.
18 floors of shakeable down to our foundation.
The adrenaline junkie surfing on 60 foot waves, laughing as the sea sprays our faces
dries out our skin, laughing until tears roll down my cheeks
as my mother picks up the shards of the heart I have broken,
sprinkles it over my head in the saddest Gay Pride Parade,
holds me close in her arms and says, Okay.



Hope Hill

Hope Hill is a Cleveland born, Columbus native. She is found with her nose in a book, or trying out new baking recipes. She is lactose intolerant. Her starting pokemon is Charmander. More of her work can be found at hopebreehill.wordpress.com.