Before the movie the accents

of the murmuring women

behind me remind me I’m home.

Swaddled by the familiar sound

and my knowledge of our kind,

the favorite brand of ice cream

the iconic baseball team,

I feel safe.

But when I look

in the bathroom mirror

I just look so plain

like a blank movie screen.

Once the movie begins

I look for a face like yours

and the soaring times

the heat and the cold

and the running free,

the simple fucking ecstasy!

All the good people tell me

again, and again, and again —

I cannot go back there and live.

But I need you to tell me

and to tell me the truth

what else could my life have to give?