Bryan Borland

Tag: Love

An Outsider’s Guide to Gay Marriage

Monday he wakes me after he showers
with a hand on my stomach. He smells
like soap and coffee. Tuesday he cuts
the grass. I meet him at the door with water,
towel the sweat from his forehead.
On Wednesday we sit on the sofa,
my feet on his lap. We watch too many
hours of reality television, then go
to bed early. On Thursday, I show him
again the easiest way to chop an onion.
I make chicken soup, he cleans the dishes.
We fold laundry and play with our cats.
On Friday, we meet after work
for dinner. It is date night; we talk
about the week and plan our grocery list.
Saturday morning we sleep late. I indulge
myself in his warmth, feel protected
in his orbit. Then it is Sunday,
more chores around the house,
our schedules built to end the day
with
Desperate Housewives and a plate
full of food, the same as every
other house on the block.

© Bryan Borland

CHASING GHOSTS WHO CHASE TAILS

For Spike, The Brave,
who licked toes and rode in wheelbarrows
and who slept on the crest of our roof, watching,
and Molly, The Mother, who
birthed my calico littermates,
kittens we resuscitated with mouth to mouth
who slept in balls at our feet.
For Honey, The Everything,
who loved me like her own,
deaf by old age, she read our lips
and hands.  Our castle was
the House of Cat and Cocker Spaniel
the first ten years of my life.
I pity the homes without stray
hair, or puddles of urine that dampen
socks unexpectedly.
The truth is I’ve loved more dogs
than men, our family plot more
our old backyard,
where dozens of shoeboxes
lay just below the dirt.

© Bryan Borland

MY SILVER AND HIS GOLD

This is another synchronicity
of genetics, how his wedding ring
fits on my size seven finger.
He’d outgrown it
as perhaps I’ll one day outgrow
the band that represents
my marriage. He was thirty
when he married my mother.
I am thirty when I, alone,
place the eyeglasses
on his sleeping face,
then pat his chest gently
and turn away.
My husband and I searched
for silver to adorn my finger.
A man’s ring so small
is difficult to find.
My father was larger than life
but in his death
I learn our fingers, at age thirty,
were the same.  I am proud
when I give it to my mother
and say we found it,
not wanting to remove it from my hand,
but sacrificing for her.

© Bryan Borland

EARLY VALENTINE

Sixth grade stands out,
with Jay and his late-eighties hair,

the first boy in our class to discover
gels and spray and bathroom mirrors.

He was mean to me, jealous
because I was considered smarter,

because I made an appearance
on the television news

delivering the weather into homes
of the pretty little girls he loved.

I faked the results of the science experiment
that won me small-town media acclaim.

I faked the Valentine I chose for Jay that year,
Be My Friend

when I’m Yours hid in my backpack,
his name written then erased.

© Bryan Borland

*Inspired by this poem at Quid Pro Tau

MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT – THE UNVEILING OF ADAM

On December 20, 2009, my father died unexpectedly from injuries he received in a motor vehicle accident. On November 25, 2009, I gave my father a copy of my manuscript, My Life as Adam. My Life as Adam is a portrait of my family as we struggled to accept both my sexuality and the death of my older brother, who similarly died in a motor vehicle accident when I was thirteen years old. Because the poems of Adam are extremely personal and intimate as they relate to my family, I asked my father for his blessing prior to moving forward to publish my first full-length collection.

He told me I didn’t need his blessing, but that I had it.

As an early Christmas gift, my father provided me with the funds to hire prominent New York-based author, editor, and book designer John Stahle to create my own imprint. Thus, in his last act of love to me, my father enabled me to bring Adam to the public. Two weeks before he died, I told him, “Dad, you’ve made my dreams come true.” His generosity culminates with the announcement that my first book, My Life as Adam, will be published in early 2010 by Sibling Rivalry Press.

After lengthy counsel with mentors and friends, I made the decision to bypass a partnership with a traditional publishing house. Though there are many wonderful independent presses in existence and many benefits to walking the road commonly traveled, I believe that my potential audience could best be served if I maintained a level of involvement that is so often impossible within the constraints of traditional publication. I wanted to be intrinsically involved with every aspect of Adam, from the look and feel of the book to how it is marketed and promoted. In the spirit of Whitman, Poe, and Wilde, My Life as Adam will come to the masses with its author in complete control, live or die.

There are stigmas associated with self-publishing that I intend to shatter. Perhaps the strongest stigma is that self-published books suffer from a lack of professionalism or quality. I guarantee you that my book will aesthetically hold up to, if not surpass, the looks of other poetry books on the market. I’ve selected the cover art, a portrait by the talented gay artist Seth Ruggles Hiler. John Stahle, who many will recognize from his work on the top-of-the-line journal Ganymede, has worked tirelessly to coordinate the book’s layout and production. I asked gay art guru Philip F. Clark to write an introduction, which he did, and folks, it blew me away. The team I’ve assembled continues to impress me, and I can say, unequivocally, that when My Life as Adam steps out of our collective imaginations and swaggers seductively into your hands, you will not be disappointed.

In the end, my father made this decision for me. He taught me that so often, we waste time by not seizing opportunities. The world of publishing is changing and, indeed, has changed. I could have waited. I could have spent $25.00 per manuscript contest entry and tried to catch the eye of a publisher. I could have done back flips to win over expert panels. I could have sent My Life as Adam out to mainstream press after mainstream press and, yeah, I might have eventually been picked up. I might have been paid an advance. I might have been assigned cover art I abhorred. I might have received little-to-no promotion or support from my publisher. I might have gone out of print after a year. I might have grown old waiting for something to happen to me rather than making it happen myself.

It seems the only argument I could find against self-publishing a book of poetry came primarily from MFA programs and their administrators, many of whom believe in only one path to literary success. Self-publishing apparently kills one’s chances to become an academic. I think I killed those chances myself long ago.

With the advent of Sibling Rivalry Press, the champagne of success or the blood of failure is completely on my hands. My Life as Adam is, more than anything I’ll ever publish, my story. But it’s also the story of the kid in Nebraska, or Illinois, or Alabama, or New Jersey.  It’s our story.

My Life as Adam is soon to become a reality. I want to express a great appreciation to so many who have helped me on this journey, including my husband, Christopher Baxter, and friends Loria Taylor, Stephen S. Mills, David Koon, and Jessie Carty. I want to thank Philip F. Clark for the hours of communication and motivation. I want to thank the readers of this blog whose feedback transformed me into a poet. But mostly, I just want to thank my father, the man who made the first thirty years of my life as Bryan truly wonderful.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,850 other followers