by Christine Gray 

Sometimes …

I feel like an alien
My antennae hanging down
I’ve taken the gloves off
I’m showing my claws
My spaceship has a conscious drive
That only black ops recognize.

I know I am human
Just like all the rest
But sometimes I feel different
Or strange or unseen
Especially here, in the West, on the plains.

I believe in Live and Let Live
People of other colors or faiths
Who speak other languages
Don’t threaten my little homestead
Just because they exist
I’m related to (gasp) gay people
My sister-in-law is a Jew
My brother-in-law is from Lebanon
He grew up in Brazil.

I’ve seen people starving in Africa
I’ve known hungry ones here
And rich ones and poor ones
Some from all walks of life
People my mother might have shunned
Or made sure I avoided
Oh, I know how to sit in judgment
She taught me so well
Finances, politics, skin color, class
Education, ethnicity, language, IQ
But what do I say to myself around this?

My good friend’s a real shaman
My nephew’s a Christian
I know addicts and drunks
Some sober, some not
My daughter talks to animals
My son skateboards all day
I know people you might call nutty or weird
One talks to dead people
Another reads the Tarot
But to me they are friends I trust and I love.

And here I am now, just waking up
I take off my costume, not just a mask
Like Rumplestiltskin twenty years later
I’m shaking off a fog, or a dream
I feel pieces returning of who I am
Or perhaps who I was, or wanted to be
I am so grateful that even though now
I might be so old, and somehow got fat
Or I wonder who that is in the mirror, some mornings
I’m alive and I’m well, my Self is returning.

I think I’ll stay single I think I’ll talk to my dogs
And bless my friends for loving me
Regardless of who today I might be
And who that is, well, the vote isn’t in
We’ll just have to wait and then maybe we’ll see
I’ll just have to wait and God willing I’ll see.