RBG is dead and gone. With her
lies the last line of defense against
the dark days, the closet closing
in, the certificates being burned
as if we do not exist in the world.
Her body sits on the altar we
are racing to stand upon, her
and I, me and she, to bring
legitimacy to our love before
our bed becomes illegal. Null.
They talk about the impact of
bigger issues, and never the
small nuances, where the margin
meets the marriage, where the
threshold holds blood like a border.
Where the boundary of the
Constitutional page folds over
into new laws against us, the
sharp edge cutting and killing
transgender bodies, gay bodies.
Without Justices Thomas and
Alito acknowledging those bodies
as humans seeking justice on
a last breath, writing death instead
of marriage on her last breath.
They say “the 2015 decision
causes harm to religious freedom”
while Pope Francis endorses same-
sex unions from the pulpit that
productively alters Catholicism.
Rome holds us while our
community, our families, our
home dispossesses us like
a demon sent to fight against the
Holy, the righteous, the anti…us.
What will become of her and
I? Will we still be an us? Can
we be, if you call us Amy? Will
these rings tighten the skin of our
fingers to the point of breaking?
We can take them off, melt
the metal down to molten
letters, carry them until our
fingers burn and we are
heard. Receive communion.
Jessica Granger holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Texas El Paso. Her work can be found in TheNewVerse.News, The Manifest-Station, Proud to Be: Writing by American Warriors, and Molotov Cocktail Magazine, among others.
Photo by Victoria Pickering.