There were missed opportunities with your sister
that I no longer regret. I did for a while because I
love her homemade chili the stuff with lime and
cilantro and those those little flecks of ghost peppers.
Any woman who can make a bowl of chili sing like that
deserves to be honored. And believe me, I wanted to
honor her before she changed into a man.
The miracle was not in the fact that she always knew
that there was a man living in her house, but the fact
that she carried through, unafraid to tell her family
and friends that she was planning on tossing her
vagina a farewell party, complete with midgets,
tattoo artists, and kittens dressed as baby possums.
The surgeon took her scissors and made a nip tuck
then a tuck nip and pushed God out of the way.
"He's mine now, so you sit over there and close
your eyes and mouth. I will call you if there is a
moment of distress."
Those opportunities are now memories of things
that could have been: a little family moving with the
rhythm of the ocean, water grinding itself across
the sand to make changes that all of us can feel.
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