Delhi, Kolkata, Banglore, New York City, San Francisco, Toronto all soared this past weekend. Pride.
A young, queer student of mine had this as her Facebook status message on Friday, kicking things off rather existentially: “is there anything to really be Proud about?…but ill b there anyway…see yall in the vill.”
Hell yeah. Pride is to queer folks what the weekend is to everyone else. It’s our time of year to show the rest of y’all how its done. Our time to shine. And we are. Just so. Shiny.
Some of my Pride. This past weekend I saw, in live-amongst-the-tall-green-trees-concert, Chubb Rock, Masta Ace and EMC crew, DJ Premier, OC, Jeru the Damager, Elvis Perkins, the Cold War Kids; I danced epic go-getta style at the Leela Lounge and the Highline Ballroom; I marched up and down Christopher Street as much as my golden sandaled and new-nod-to-the-c-c-c-olors Nike clad feet could take; I feasted with a troop of Desi Dykes; I random conversated with mad queer folks on the subway, because in the City, pride leaks down into the underground; sketched and drew with fellow women to the beat of a live model and nearby book club watching Junot Diaz on You Tube in Spanish Harlem; read deeper into The Tipping Point and The Biography of Paul Robeson; rode my bike to Coney Island, where I quenched, sank my body into salt, spread out to dry on the sand, and arose to the tune of lightening, the color of thunder, rode back home in a torrential summer downpour, soaked and biking. Just like monsoon season. India, I miss you.
And I’m so proud of and inspired by your fabulous Pride march debuts. (!!!)
There’s no beginning or end to Pride, not really. So, Happy Pride forever.
And read my Pride poems, bitc*es.
There’s three for you. One on Pride in the village with the visage so amazing and cops closing us out in the hundreds. Cavalry, SUV’s, scooters. The other two are on dancing in the Pride filled clubs. I heart gay boys.
I’d like to send these poems out to India, my students (you know who you are) and Mondays.
summer went somewhere
when out of nowhere
opens a stone walled place inside
a nation of millions
vaulting social control
careening gender roles
poured out pier
cop in his rear/view
which one of you
thinks this is funny
barricades slapped on the crowd
the worlds most lucrative consumer base
one weekend a year
never will we forget
that this is Our Pier
brown and black
cowboy boots and daisy dukes
all knees and elbows
curves and necks/posed/up
dance close/for good/luck
and good measure
i promise i won’t take my eyes off you
as long as you watch me too
pressed against/our hip bones blue
thanks for tuning in to: “on pride.” stay tuned folks, there’s more where that came from in two and two.