I came here
for art, for energy, for community, for people like me, done with
“accidental” pregnancies and tiny weddings and Trump rallies
and surely, maybe
I’d meet more men
in a city of 700,000.
Bursting with creativity
I came here.
Now I’m stuck
in this ugly gray
where walking down the sidewalk in a straight line
is an Olympic sport
and nobody
knows how to drive,
beating back screaming homeless
and rude Chinese ladies
and I didn’t ask for this.
I didn’t fucking ask for this.
I’m tired
of mixers, classes,
being proactive,
waiting on men
who remain passive
and I’m twenty-two again
waiting around
waiting still
and nothing
has changed.
Meanwhile, my church
pays lip service to loving singles,
all around me married people
making plans, making visits,
making time,
and sure-okay-I-guess-
you’re-invited-but
holy-shit-what
will-we-talk-
about.
Stuck
in small talk-
“What do you do?
Did you just move?
How long have you
been coming here?”-
endless meeting
and greeting
conversations repeating
and
no
invites
no
meet-ups
until
I
pick up the phone
I
suggest a spot
I
make the first move
always
the first move
and every
one
after
and they say
I’m welcome,
I’m always
welcome,
caught
in the gulf
between
“Can I come over?”
and
“Come on in.”
When
the life changes
that would make me
palatable
feel
so far away
they seem
impossible.
When I’m a model
member of my life
stage,
when I’ve
attended
every Bible study
baby shower
class meeting,
still
the prodigal
is welcomed, paraded,
appearance lauded,
“We’re so glad you made it!”
when I’ve-
I’ve been here
the whole
time.
“But you have God!”
feels more and more
insulting
like I haven’t trusted
like I haven’t tried
like I haven’t been praying,
like I can’t hear the truth
in what they’re saying:
I have God
because
no one else
wants me.
