Why do I think of Michael....
He came to my fiction class
as a man (dressed in men's
clothes) : then he came
to my poetry class
as a woman (dressed in women's
clothes, but he was still
a man under the clothes) .
Was I moved in the face of
such courage (man/woman
Was I moved by the gentleness
of his masculinity; the strength
of his femininity....
His presence at the class poetry
reading, dressed in a miniskirt,
high boots, bright purple tights,
a scooped-neck blouse, carrying
a single, living, red rose, in a
vase, to the podium (the visitors
not from the class, shocked-
the young, seen-it-all MTV crowd-
into silence as he's introduced,
'Michael....') And what it was, I think,