Andie’s Place observations of gender dysphoria and beyond

Rainstorm of fingers and palms
surging, dwindling—a last burst
dissembling to spits and spots as stage lights
fade and die.

Unpeopled, the set becomes
pretence and flimsy and flat,
performers are unperforming, becoming
you and I.

Arms unfurl their sleeves
fill wide as wings and fall
as a restless flock preparing to turn
rise and fly.

But I am still, lost in thought
memories flood my mind
of last time, of that time, we were here
you and I.

Every dry feather departs,
the last sweep falls quiet,
seats become velvet walls again, muffle my
final sigh.

2012 © Andie Davidson

(at a Suzanne Vega concert, Brighton 2012)

• The back story to the poem

This is love in armour, no
fluffy pink besotted
falling apart in haze, no
magic dust scattered in hair
the sparkle is the polish, on
our armour.

This is love played safe, no
flung-wide doors and hearts
ablaze and calling freely, no
wonder in the whirlwind here
our walls are what we touch, in
playing safe.

This is love defended, no
arms laid around forsaken
by empty hands made open, no
abandoned space for playing here
we stand alert and ready, in
our defence.

This is love spoken in dialect, no
easy understanding, natural
learned-from-the-child phrase, no
instant recognition from ear to heart
but defended, safe, strong, in
love with an r.

2013 ©&#nbsp;Andie Davidson

• See also: Unspoken