THIS IS.
this is the apartment where
you said your first word:
"wow" as you looked up
at the full moon
and also street lights
and the flickering, sickening
blue overhead light
in our kitchen.
this is the street where
a pigeon shit on us both
while we were walking to get
hot Vietnamese sandwiches
and when we got home
your other mother laughed:
she's not mean,
she just appreciates
broad humor.
this is the Safeway where
we got our grape juice from WIC
and before we drank it
we used the bottles as bowling pins
and filmed a triumphant,
bowling champion documentary
and thanked every patronizing
social worker who allowed us
that small measure of juice,
beans, cereal, and milk.
this is the bus that took us
to your friend Isaac's house:
babies don't need friends,
exactly,
but i did,
and his own queer mama
was necessary to my motherhood's
long climb to the top
of our apartment's stairs,
so say "thank you."
this is the bus that took me
an hour and a half away from you
for my job at the library,
and there was always some guy
licking his lips before asking
if he could touch me.
this is the city we ran to
when we figured out
"close to family" is fucking stifling
for a little queer family
with a double order of teen moms.
this is the apartment where
you cried inconsolably in my arms
for hours every day
and that was called colic.
this is the apartment where
you stopped crying for hours everyday
and i called that an end to wanting
to cry inconsolably for hours everyday
myself.
when i take you to San Jose I will tell you
what this is.
you said your first word:
"wow" as you looked up
at the full moon
and also street lights
and the flickering, sickening
blue overhead light
in our kitchen.
this is the street where
a pigeon shit on us both
while we were walking to get
hot Vietnamese sandwiches
and when we got home
your other mother laughed:
she's not mean,
she just appreciates
broad humor.
this is the Safeway where
we got our grape juice from WIC
and before we drank it
we used the bottles as bowling pins
and filmed a triumphant,
bowling champion documentary
and thanked every patronizing
social worker who allowed us
that small measure of juice,
beans, cereal, and milk.
this is the bus that took us
to your friend Isaac's house:
babies don't need friends,
exactly,
but i did,
and his own queer mama
was necessary to my motherhood's
long climb to the top
of our apartment's stairs,
so say "thank you."
this is the bus that took me
an hour and a half away from you
for my job at the library,
and there was always some guy
licking his lips before asking
if he could touch me.
this is the city we ran to
when we figured out
"close to family" is fucking stifling
for a little queer family
with a double order of teen moms.
this is the apartment where
you cried inconsolably in my arms
for hours every day
and that was called colic.
this is the apartment where
you stopped crying for hours everyday
and i called that an end to wanting
to cry inconsolably for hours everyday
myself.
when i take you to San Jose I will tell you
what this is.
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KATIE KAPUT is a transsexual queer mama living in Portland, OR, where she writes, teaches, and makes a pretty badass home. She lived on 9th Street in San Jose for two years in the early 2000s.
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