22/11/2022
I stand for quest, which is to say mission, as in "our mission is to provide a safe space for you to be yourself," which is to say "it is not always safe for you to be yourself." For queen, as in a six-four Cher, hosting Wednesday-night karaoke, always the first and last to sing. For quarters, which is to say jukebox, eight ball, ci******es, home. Of course, I stand for q***r. Which is to say unique, which is to say alone. I am q***r in a military town where cadets count out football scores in pushups and Blue Angels bar up the sky.
For quarantine. For questioning.
As in, how long have you known?
As in, would you like to dance?
As in a dance floor, empty save for two men kissing. A patio, fenced in. The warmth of a firepit, the sweetness of his saliva
after three gin and tonics. For quick, which is to say alive, which is to say mortal. I am quick as a number scrawled on a cocktail napkin between pages of a One-Year Bible on a nightstand, quiet as the fist-sized cloud rising from the sea after Elijah slaughters his 450th prophet of Baal. For quench: to satisfy and to extinguish. I stand for rainbow, and I stand for rain.