Crooked

Where is my head? I’m not sure. Why are some people born straight, and some crooked like me? My queer spiritual healer said this, and I can’t stop thinking about it. A winding wood, growing crooked, nothing straight about me. If I had the chance to choose, I wonder what it’s like to be normal. But then, of course, this is the turn of the poem. A crooked growth means it can be a loophole. And a loophole can be a means to freedom. I like being free. I like kisses on the nose. I like the smell of my feet and your armpits. I like the smell of gross. I like tasting blended tangerines. I like the gap in your teeth because my tongue fits like a key. I like the holes in my heart because it makes me see. Had it not been, I would have never noticed.

Copyright © 2024 by Margaret Rhee. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 18, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets. 

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“Queerness is a gift, but larger society often upholds normativity or being straight or ‘normal’ as a false standard. This poem affirms nonnormativity. Through intimacy and metaphor,  queerness, nonnormativity, or crookedness, is [sic] not shameful in this poem, but instead, offers a way to see differently. Written casually, for my cherished queer and trans writing group, upon meditation, the poem is meandering, playful, and questioning. By the end, the poem is resolute on reclaiming queer vision—not shame. Imperfection, like gaps in one’s teeth, is a loophole where freedom, healing, and beauty can be found.”
—Margaret Rhee