Passing the Boots...

here in this now

i reflect on the morphic field of market street

and the ways it parts from traffic and trade for our parade

always victory and ticker tape

in the form of survival and rainbow boa feathers

we wear it well--this unconditional love stuff.

this year i joined the ladies at the top of the bus

still wearing my boots in the ways i once wore them

but feeling it--the tired in my bones.

we have been marching a long time in these streets

for love and for one another, we march

and over my years, i have been the onlooker from both sides of the street

and for many, now, i have marched

in boots made for walking streets

i wear them under a purple corset

with a rainbow flag cape tucked into the top

i wear it all super hero well in the glide morning

when we gather to tell the truth to one another

about all it takes to come in off the street and find home

in a truth that loves you and proves itself

though food and music and warm embrace

and then i wear those boots

alongside the drag queens who wear theirs better

and get to parade to the parade with all the momentum

that rolls with us through the streets of our demarcating street

where market meets meat

i get to where the parade begins and take my rest at the top of the bus

looking down on the menagerie of us

all assembling to make parade in the way we make it

(we make it in all the ways we make anything like love)

i sit and look around and like the view from the top of the double decker

and don't move when it becomes clear that i can have this

restful spot on high

and still be in my boots

on this day of market street days.

and then the bus lumbers forward

and i look out at the crowd

i see into the faces of the people as themselves

i find the ones looking and waving and needing

the permission that comes from parades

and i feel into the widest love one can know

about growing up into ones self

and surviving

and i throw that love through the air as kisses

and watch it land with the ones who see and receive

and pat my heart to put that moment of acknowledged exchange

pure exchange of honest love into my heart

as never forget

and never take for granted

what riot memory and act up human rights

can give the world as possibility

in people who choose to join the parade

as their way to survive

and ohhhhhhhhhh, perfect love

to love as love intends

their gay on gaze

and my fiercely flung kisses

received

this, i receive

this, i extend

and i smile like the sun on this day

and i kiss my kisses to the air that unites us all

and i know my perfect moment on market street

as the lesbian superhero of a certain age

and it feels all the ways a superhero must feel

to have become super heroic

just by accepting those parts of themselves

that make them

who

they

be

when they choose to be

and give the world what love they know

and when the bus is parked at the end of the dream

and i make my careful way down the stairs and out to the sidewalk

i walk my walk back to market

and take a moment on the orange blocks

and sit my fine ass on the solid surface

and unzip the long inseam on one

and then the other

perfect legs in perfect boots

and i pull them off slow

and emphatic, in the finality of the one last time

and lay them out in that way they have

of wanting to lay down in offering

and i tuck some rainbow boa feathers in the open zipper

to decorate my gift

and i slide my tired feet into my sandals tucked in to my corset's ties

and ask a friend to buckle them at my ankles

and i walk the flat ride

of the no longer heeled

free legs

in this standing moment

in this unending truth of time

and i gift to san fancisco

all those boots have given to me

in these streets

so made for walking

out loud

and proud

of who i have finally

let myself come to be.

come, cum, to be.