A wise woman at the Dyke March told my friend they should buy the studded leather collar they were eyeing.

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She said her days of public bondage were over, more so we knew they had happened than to lament something lost.

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She moved with the quiet smiling softness of knowing our futures.

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I’m jealous of her cheeky, knowing smile.

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I know youth is fleeting and precious but more and more I’m dreaming of crows’ feet and calloused palms.

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So I carry my grandmother’s sigh and my grandfather’s laugh wrapped up in my ribs as scaffolding for my soul.

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I find comfort in vintage stores piled high with trinkets made priceless by the touch of time.

 

I wear pants tailored to a grandfather from the 70s and sweaters passed from the backs of mothers whose daughters have grown old.

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And I keep hoping that pull of the future will be easier to balance against the counterweight of the past.