Government Cheese

I come from a long line of loud dressers, masters of

second-hand cool reinvention in paisley shirts,

checked sweaters, and striped pants.

 

So if it’s true that we, my family and I, weren’t poor

it’s in the same way that later I wasn’t homeless.

It’s a matter of surface attention, directed awareness.

 

I slipped between friendly couches, a queer kid

without a home. I learned denial like that

from Mom. She emptied illusions in her free time:

 

poured samples into larger shampoo bottles, softened

soap shavings with water into batches of liquid

cleanser to rinse away the hidden poverty. 

 

I knew who I was, backpack slung over one arm

clomping out of the house. We were two versions of a story

that end the same. Even apart, I am half of her.

 

I learned to need less, become my own brand.

Part of what we are is accident, luck. The other, creativity.

To have enough, we practiced frugality:

 

laughed at the gooey, artery clogging, bright yellow brick

we nibbled with crackers. Maybe ironically,

but we ate it. 

originally Published in Lavender Review, issue 8 (December, 2013); republished in Lavender Review: Poems from the First Five Years (2015)