This poem approaches millennial lesbianism through the generic. By utilizing capitalist imagery and references to American Popular culture, I seek to capture the experiences of the young, urban women growing up gay in a culture that simultaneously rejects them from without, while the queer community rejects them from within.

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We are a construct, deconstructing,

A runaway train, the snapped cable on a streetcar

The lights go out on Broadway and in the dark,

With primitive longing lapping up his angel-headed

Desire, he cries out in the shadows

And Stella looks out her window with blank eyes

And with adequate timing, whispers

“Did someone say my name?”

We are two boys in white paint on Halloween—

We crush candy in our gums and let the sugar, sweet

Drip like sweat down our dimpled chins

We dance with veritable joy in a toast to hollow gravity

We are the wild youth, blueberry kissed by candy corn smiles

In whiskers, we cry out in wet streets

“No more tricks, no more tricks, no more treats.”

We make dolls with paper faces and red lips

We give them our names, and dress them in our clothes

We dive into the deep sea, no line, anchor heavy

We sink in tandem to the bottom so that our lungs can

Burst, in green pears, and return as pulp

Shaking like a spring leaf, you spread like butter on toast

The juice rolls down your thighs in rivers

And makes creeks of red morning blooms

So then, is this love?

The question sits quiet on our plates

And we cut our steak, wince as our knives

Clink together

Is this love?

It floats in the air of four am when you are asleep

And I am awake, eyes trained firmly on the grooves

In the ceiling. The fan clunks in circular motion

Like wheels on bicycle

I remember summer

A blue moon twinkles over East Village

And in this twilight room with a deafening roar

The train jumps track and splits my head in two

My ears going each one direction

Is this love?

I’d give you everything for nothing but the chance

To feel less alone

And still, angry, drooling on your hand

My eyes blinking in rapid dissolution

What is love?

Pervasive, the silence bubbles forth like a popped can

A black cat in the window.

How small and simple we must seem.