I’d set myself to composing an anthem,

a song of wholeness and reconnection,

I deconstructed the bops that moved me.

It didn’t come easy—

we wrestled in rounds for two weeks

my face repeatedly smashed into the stone

I was so close to giving up.

 

There are no angels in this story,

just personal demons on one shoulder,

on the other Mary Oliver and found family

trained in the art of luring the lightning into bottles

 

It took a spin in the cosmic Yahtzee cup (not stirred)

and by the machinations of the universe,

the constellations aligned just right

 

Through the flickering beam of light

emerged my face, the one I wore months ago,

the size of a billboard rocking out on the big screen

 

As the video finished, the crowd applauded

I fished the pockets of my fanciest jacket,

scrawled with gold, to blot away the rivulet of tears

pulled out of me by seeing and hearing myself

so big, claiming my chosen given name aloud