Every time a brother I know Dies from AIDS My dick gets hard. Now I know that seems Like a contradiction, But it ain't. I mean, my temperature rises, My blood boils, And my dick gets hard. Actually, it only gets hard If I knew the brother Was sex-positive And gay — well, gay. It's sort of an anger thang. I could have, and will continue to march, In the streets, during Gay Pride, African-American or Puerto Rican Day Parades And anytime to Stop The Church "O'Connor says don't fuck! We say fuck you!!!" But when my brothers Transcend this life — Their flesh and bones Turn first to ashes and then to dust — I feel it's my moral duty To testify on their behalf. I get spiritual, Wanna start signifying like Angelou "I hate to lose things." It's a metaphysical, Political, mental, Psychological, demographical, Kind of thang. You know, not a regular hard. Okay, maybe it is a regular hard. I become more like my name Than ever before hunting down trade. My nose reels in the scent, Like a male dog in pursuit of any bitch in heat I sniff any and all glutei maximi, derrieres, Behinds, or booties. I sniff SNIFF SNIFF I smell ass! I lick and poke All in an effort to claim my right To do the nasty the way I want to — the way they did. Like the time L. had gone (I'm only using initials to protect the innocent, You know, the boy's lover who didn't know what was going on) Well, when I heard L had passed away, I went hunting, Cause L. was a Fenway-creeping, bathhouse — "No, you can't spend the night" — versatile diva. And I did the best I could in his honor: I went to the closest X-rated movie house I could find and carried on. And when M. left, shit, that was a challenge! Cause he was a bicoastal, international — "Show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine" kind of guy. Well, I had to buy a plane ticket. The point was you couldn't do it in the city where you lived. And if I don’t know their sexual histories, Well, I do a little solo job. Now you can sit and judge or laugh if you want to. We all gotta do what’s right for ourselves. And honey, I’m not just like this when they die. I was sitting at the ice cream store On West 4th Street When my boyfriend, lover, friend, Relationship for that week Told me, right in the middle of my double fudge Mint chocolate chip sundae, That he found out that day He was positive. He then proceeded to tell me, and I quote, "I’m gonna die." Shit! we finished those sundaes, paid the bill, And I marched that man right back to my apartment, Straight into my bedroom. I ripped off my clothes and his, Leaned back, threw my legs in the air, Grabbed the tube, tore open a condom, Slapped that bad boy on his dick, And demanded to be fucked. "You gonna fuck me!" It wasn’t about roles. I wanted to prove to both of us That we didn’t have to give up The lust that lives between lovers. I had to make sure he could See my face, look into my eyes See my love. I needed to be sure he could hear me whisper. YEAH, YEAH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME GODDAMNIT! You see I — Brrring, brrring!!! Excuse me, someone's on the phone. Hello? E? What? You just got over a bout of PCP. © B.Michael Hunter 1993
Category: Bert’s Poetry
The Photograph
There were three of us
All caramel colored men
Bill in his forties
Our smiles piano keys
Les in his thirties
Opportunity abounds alphabets follow
I in my twenties
Desire flourishes
That was then
Today
Bill is ashes on Blue Mountain
Les decays in Philly soil
Will I be as fortunate as them to count
The days before I rest?
© B.Michael Hunter 1992
Where’s Your Baby Gone (for Donald Woods)?
On June 25, 1992, B.Michael lost one of his dearest friends, Donald Woods, to HIV. One week later, on the occasion of Donald’s “A Celebration of Life,” hosted by the Brooklyn Children’s Museum, he and Colin Robinson shared the emcee role.
A converted cassette recording of the ceremony, a powerful and moving send-off, can be heard in its entirety below. At the 4:23 mark of Part 1, B.Michael offers a song that he wrote for Donald and enlists Christopher-Dana Rose to perform it with him. His lyrics appear below.
Donald’s obituary appears in the ceremony’s written program, which features a cover portrait by photographer Robert Giard. A few days prior, Donald’s family of origin held “A Going Home Celebration.” This program is also included.
Where’s Your Baby Gone?
Yes, Mother dear
Yes, Mother dear
I know that your baby’s gone
Yes, Mother dear
Yes, Mother dear
I know another baby’s gone
Your baby’s gone
Tested so
Why must they be
Tested so
Why must they be
Tested so
I ask the One above
Why must they be
Why must they be
Tested so
Mothers shouldn’t have to be
Tested so
No, they shouldn’t have to be
Tested so
Burying their baby
Their baby
But the waters keep flowing
The rivers keep flowing
They keep going
Feels like
A heavy load
The waters keep flowin’
And you must take
The good with the bad
You must take
The happy with the sad
But keep the waters flowing
Flowing
And you want to stay
Safe
And you need to stay
Safe
But you can’t stay
Safe
No you can’t
Safe
Everybody, everyone
Everybody, everyone
Everybody, everyone
Give thanks
Give thanks
Be grateful
Be grateful
That you get to meet
Good folks on the way
Lucky folks on the way
I … know
Aché …
Aché …
Yes, Mother dear
Where’s your baby gone?
Gone, gone
Gone, gone …
In remembering and celebrating Donald’s life, I wanted to use this because Mother is literal: We are fortunate enough to have his mother here with us today. But Mother is also a metaphor for many things. Sometimes we say Mother Earth, sometimes we use Mother as a symbol or metaphor for life. This is a ceremony of life — it’s Donald Walter Woods’ life. And I like to think of our friendship as something that was given life, that was mothered and nurtured by the two of us. And I’d like all of you to remember the part of Donald that was for you and he and continue to nurture that while you live here, so we don’t have to ask, Where’s your baby gone?
Gone … gone
Gone … gone
Gone … gone
Gone … gone … gone
© B.Michael Hunter 1992
Four Voices ACT UP
i. The Doors Will Open!
For Keith Cylar
Unlock the doors
untie my hands
chains round my ankles
the voice within
I forgive you FATHER
for you have sinned.
After he laid his beloved,
one of New York’s finest,
to rest.
The courage to be true
found sanctuary on his lips.
Keith, like a panther black,
a militant vanguard in the fight.
Could no longer sit,
watching,
lives needlessly lost.
Peeling back layers of deceit.
Remembering lessons learned.
The heat of Cleveland flames on his boyhood face,
comrades marching in the Chocolate City,
his own calling (A worker for social change,
a social worker).
Would not allow him to
contribute to the hospital conspiracy,
to keep the public blind.
His own calling, would not allow him to
see people’s rights not taken seriously.
Watching Cleveland burn
marching in the Chocolate City
seeing life snatched
too quickly
too soon
too often
from
too many
too close
too intimate
too young.
Life’s lesson
would not allow him to
sit
and
Watch.
Like any panther black,
he armed himself with
the reality of the day.
Took to the streets,
wanting whole truths.
Not partial truths,
misalignments,
misquotes,
misrepresentations,
not media truths.
But truths found when the world’s majority moves in concert.
Truths found when the world’s majority ACT(S)-UP.
A town crier, messages simple.
Brothers and Sisters
Black
lesbians and gays are real.
AIDS is real.
Through truth we can arm ourselves.
Truth without defeat.
Brothers and Sisters
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do?
Help me–Help me–Help me–Help!
Keith finds comfort
taking AIDS to task with force
frontline
Harlem
frontline
the steps of City Hall
frontline
On the wall with bulls.
Keith draws strength and is humbled,
by the many everyday men and women,
(s)heroes,
who won’t give up their will to live.
Remaining human,
enjoying life, regardless of disease.
Doing what needs to be done.
LORD LORD LORD
Seem like a heavy load,
has been lifted.
ii. Un Día de Octubre
For Robert Garcia
One October day
a day of symbols
Robert
on the street
unknowingly
took a turn left
On the ground
at the nations capital
native land of his ancestors
laid before him
pieces of cloth
the catalyst for change
He walked
ever so slowly
and it seemed as if the cloth
transformed his feet into needles
holding threads
each step a stitch
every sense awaken
As he stepped / stitched
this October day
his eyes filled with
colors of cloth telling stories
cloth for memories
cloth for lives
His eyes filled with
the lovers, friends, and families
people whom the cloth had also
transformed to needles
As they all stepped/stitched
his eyes filled with
tears
and he wept
in a circle
with friends
wept
a cleansing
for he was sure he had
recognized himself amongst the cloth
sure he heard his end song
10-11-87
numbers
no longer background noise
each step/stitch
he was certain
he had heard numbers
16 his 1st sojourn for $99
to the city of 7,000,000
6 the members of his family
1 the oldest boy a sister delivered
among queen of angles
3000 for the miles he was from home
2 the lesbian couple who took him
away for 3 days
building trust
548 Hudson the address of the gay and lesbian
bookstore where he worked
political lessons for free
At 25, 2 years after following the love of his life
back to the city of forbidden fruit
The numbers all added up
That
which he refused to own
chose
to own him
With no words spoken
you could hear him ask
“Padre porque me niegas mi lengua?”
“Father why take my tongue?”
With no words spoken
you could hear him ask
“Mother why deny me my culture?”
This son of the Navajo nation
this son of Mexico
who found himself gay
With no words spoken
no words
you could hear him scream
“OH GOD DON’T LET MY FRIENDS DIE!”
“PLEASE DON’T LET ME DIE OF AIDS!”
Choices made
he was ready
a ship with sails
catching the winds
to wherever they blew
ready for battle
The first gust landed him at the doors of
Sloane Kettering who had not used the money they
received for AIDS research
Then to the doors of ACT-UP
the wind strong transformed the
ship to tape fast forwarded
All the while
rocked in the bosom of his
lesbian sisters teaching
connecting the ism’s
He sat
central
to those whose anger took them to the streets
He sat chair of majority action
“Dealing with issues of all communities with AIDS.”
He found himself on the street of financial walls
chanting
“No more business as usual!” “No more business as usual!”
they locked him up
The word out his purpose
he works to get the word out
Robert is sex sex sex sex sex sex sex positive
his brothers keeper
trying to unlock the doors
looking for answers
questioning his passion
“Why me?” “Why me?”
“Why can’t there be more?”
“What will it take to move this mountain of ignorance and fear?”
Robert will show you everything
will talk about it
And like every Navajo code talker
who does battle
they too will say of him
“With a courageous heart you have fought!”
iii. Been On This Road
For Allan Robinson
allan
journeyman
wanderer
sage
first stepped on the road
a brown harlem baby
when his daddy and mama
sat him on clinton’s hill
to see the view
didn’t matter there were no
other brown harlem babies
they’d come
and it was always understood that
allan, having already seen the view
would tell other which way
on the road to go
change significant change
people making change
in ‘68 brought him to his first demo
they done gone on and killed
the prince of peace.
change significant change
“War no more!” “War no more!”
change people making change
got angela free
in ‘71 scented rooms filled with tea
the aftermath of man’s quest for love
posed a question which needed to be
answered and steered him to the
arms of friends in league who soothed
the rite of passage
he emerged a popular boy
full full of himself
allan
journeyman
wanderer
sage
on the road
in ‘82 was in court at
the first forum on aids
seemed like a temporary crisis
a good time for a spiritual creative sabbatical
hiking in the mountains
he went hiking
in ‘83 he had traveled much land
had even seen san franciscans lite
candles in vigil
he came home
to new york city streets
streets where he has been
a popular boy
and friends were
missing
or moved
and there were
waves of deaths
so shocking
no sickness nor lingering illness
just waves of death
all he could do was break down and cry
at a bar with two friends
trying to find humor in the horror
he suggested he write a play
titled “The Gay Dogfood Company.”
simple plot
they would ground up all the people who really
fucked with them
the medical establishment
racist gay bucks koch & reagan and turn them all into
canine and feline food
they thought it was a good idea
he went home and for the salutation wrote thirty words
no thirty names
but it read for hours
journeyman
wanderer
Sage
understanding co-factors
angry
frustrated
hungry for energy
registered his body
his eye on the mark
an advocates militant
understanding bridges that
had to be built and crossed
acted up
no locks could stop him
he acted up
even though his own body fluids
tested
could negate the reality of the day
what matter will we build this house?
a central question
what matter will we build this house?
and without even noticing the passing of time
he grew weary
limp like fallen leaves
after a winters storm
and that which was his birthright
life
he thought to take
wrote out in letters a farewell
no no this in no end for a journeyman
wanderer
sage
so he dreamed dreams
new realities
remembered trees
the joy of physical things
himself as a child
He let go of stuff which didn’t belong to him
envisioned himself a 80 year old man
stunning
surrounded by men in love
yes
he stay on the road
iv. H.E.A.L.-IN
For Cliff Goodman
Cliff
a good man
woke up one mornin’
angry
Realized
direct action had to be done
Cliff
is a quiet, quiet man
powerfully peaceful
Woke up
angry
Wanted to be counted
look at me
Was gonna make a difference
Cliff was angry
Wasn’t waitin’
Wasn’t waitin’ for no Supreme Court decision
Wasn’t waitin’
Wasn’t waitin’ for no Frederick/Malcolm/Martin/Jesse
Wasn’t waitin’
Wasn’t waitin’ for Lincoln/Kennedy/Dinkins
No three hundred years
Was gonna start
Heal-in’
Heal-in’ his soul
Wasn’t waitin’
Took to the streets
a member of the majority
ACT-IN’ up
Demanding
Better hospital care, housing, access to drugs
Demanding
dignity
Took to the streets
a black star shinin’
Wasn’t waitin’ for no back room dealing
Wasn’t puttin’ no faith in the government
Wasn’t waitin’ to be called on
Puttin’ African-American issues on the agenda of life
Cliff
a Goood-Man
Won’t sit while Wellcome wants to give AZT
to Black Wimmin – Latin Wimmin
and their babies
feels like more
Bad Blood
running through the veins of
our sisters
our mothers
our daughters
our lovers
us
no no wont no Burroughs be Wellcomed
Cliff
ain’t thinkin’ about diein’
is angry
on the streets – in Harlem
on the streets – in Bedford Stuyvesant
on the streets – in Newark
Is peaceful
Believes in true informed consent
Cliff
will tell you
______ call on Jesus
______ call on Buddha
______ call on Allah
But only if you callin’ to talk about livin’
Cliff will tell you
go to the doctor – but don’t stop there
go to the herbalist – but don’t stop there
go to the acupuncturist – but don’t stop there
don’t stop at nobodies door
cause you gotta keep movin’ – to keep livin’
Cliff
is spiritual
uses anger for therapy
is on the street
COUNTED – BLACK
COUNTED – GAY
COUNTED – PEACEFUL
COUNTED – HEAL-IN
COUNTED – ACT-IN’ UP
COUNTED – ALIVE
© B.Michael Hunter 1991
When You Crossed Over
WHEN YOU CROSSED OVER
I CRIED
I CRIED SIMPLE TEARS
MORE FOR ME
SO MUCH MORE FOR ME
CAUSE YOU HAD GONE ON
GONE ON
I’M HERE STILL HERE
LIVING
LIVING THE EVERYDAY
EVERYDAY
AND IT SEEMS
DAYS CAN’T GIT NO LONGER
AND YOU WELL
YOU GOT A PLACE TO GO
WHEN I HEARD
YOU CROSSED OVER
I CRIED
SIMPLE TEARS
MORE FOR ME
SO MUCH MORE FOR ME
SO MUCH MORE FOR ME
WHAT TO DO
WHAT DO I DO
NOW THAT YOU’RE HOME
WHO WILL I TURN TO
WHO WILL I SEEK
ALL THE PAIN/JOY WE SHARED
I’M TRULY THANKFUL
SO THANKFUL
THAT YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR PEACE
BUT I STILL CRY
SIMPLE TEARS
SO MUCH MORE
SO MUCH MORE FOR ME
SO MUCH TROUBLE
TROUBLE IN THE WORLD
HOW WILL I DEAL
WITH THE TROUBLE IN
THE WORLD
I’M THANKFUL
SO THANKFUL
THAT YOU HAVE A PLACE TO GO
© B.Michael Hunter 1991
Bridgetown
“So Mr. Hunter, at what point did you realize you were in trouble?”
A fictitious reporter asks
Over and over in my head.
“At what point?”
In the Barbados waters
Swimming on the Atlantic side
This Island/Nation
Skies clear
Air dry.
“At what point?”
April 4, 1989, 21 years to the day
The Prince of Peace
Shot dead on a Memphis hotel balcony
By some white man
Helping those who
Don’t want niggers to have shit.
“At what point did it seem that danger was abound?”
Was it the lapse of time?
The absence of children’s voices,
Vendors’ bells selling ice cold drinks
Local souvenirs?
Or was it the sight of blue?
I taste water
Salty
In my mouth
I gag.
I go down.
No longer above water.
My hair is wet.
My eyes open, but I don’t see shit.
I concentrate
Get back to shore.
Then the tide goes in or out.
I don’t know. I’m not sure.
My head above water
I see rocks
Hear the waves crash
I think, Oh shit, I could bust my head
On one of those rocks.
But I’m not afraid.
I tread water
Locate the shore
Catch my breath
My bearings
The tide goes in or out
I wonder if this is fiction or non-fiction
I remember, I’m always confused about the distinction
So I say “fiction=fantasy.”
I, I hope that’s what this is
Then I go down.
But I’m not afraid
Cause you always have three chances
My life wants to flash before my eyes
But my ass wants to sit down
I go with my ass, legs and arms
I tread water.
First I need to swim away from shore
Then parallel
Away from the rocks to calmer water
Back to shore.
Then comes this brother
Chestnut brown
No darker than my own father
With terror on his face
I’m in control now
I think, I’m trying to save my ass.
Ten feet away
He treads water
He doesn’t say a word
I’m about to swim out
To calmer water
But I ask him
With obvious condescension in my voice
“What do you want?”
He says, “Here, catch!”
And throws me a buoy
My reflexes kick in
But this does not fit into my plans.
I realize he wants to help
I think, Maybe this is a better plan.
We start to shore
I realize he has a rope on the buoy
Attached to another buoy
Tied around his waist
I realize he has on scuba flippers
We are five minutes into it
But we have not moved anywhere.
Then comes another
Black man, my complexion
He’s wearing more of the same gear
Less the buoy with the string.
Now I start a strong scissor-kick
Stroke with my free hand
The three of us
Start to make progress
Fifteen minutes later we are on shore.
People gather around
I’m embarrassed
Start to make jokes
In the office they take my
Name
Address
Birthdate
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
I tell them of my plan to save myself
The first guy remarks,
“Oh that’s why you hesitated to grab the buoy?”
I leave the office
And think, Damn! It never occurred to me that a
Black man
Could ever save my life, that a
Black man
Could ever be a lifeguard.
I should have realized I was in danger
When I first went down
Or maybe
I should have realized I was in danger
When we didn’t move for five minutes
But I only realized I might be in danger
When we were joined by the second man.
Or should I have realized I was in danger the first time
I switch my seat on the train when
Black teenagers board
Or when
I talk soft, so as not to frighten women
Or when
I cringe when I hear Black English within
Ten feet of some apparent outsider’s ear.
Or when…
Or when…
Or when…
I realized that I had internalized the hatred
That goes with self, when so many forces around you say:
“A Black Man Ain’t Shit!”
“A Black Faggot Man Ain’t Shit!”
© B.Michael Hunter 1991
Shades of U
U B
MIDWEST HOMEGIRL
TALKIN’ BACK
GIVIN’ LESSONS
A LONE SOLDIER
BRAVE
SOME SAY A CRAZY _ _ _ _ _
IN A WAR
WHERE THE PENULTIMATE WEAPONS
ARE TALKIN’ MINDFUCK MACHINES
U B
LIVIN’
AMONGST THE WALKIN’ WOUNDED
SOME SAY AN EVIL _ _ _ _ _
WORDS FLOW
OUT YO MOUTH
LIKE TIDAL WAVES
SO IT AIN’T JUST-US
MIDWEST HOMEGIRL
MOTHER’S DAUGHTER
‘MINDIN’ PEOPLE THE 13TH
SET US FREE
MOTHER
TO YOUR SISTERS’ CHILDREN
ALWAYS ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF
ALL THE ISSUES
LEFT OF CENTER
U B
MIDWEST HOMEGIRL
TALKIN’ BACK
GIVIN’ LESSONS
A LONE SOLDIER
GIVIN’ LESSONS
TALKIN’ BACK
MIDWEST HOMEGIRL
U B
© B.Michael Hunter 1990
Written in honor of Denise Carty-Bennia, B.Michael’s mentor and friend. He delivered this poem at her memorial in 1990.
Borrowed Lines — As Told To Me
Performed at the Lesbian & Communities’ Congratulatory Ceremony in Celebration of Dr. Marjorie J. Hill, Director, Mayor’s Office for the Lesbian & Gay Community, on Tuesday June 12, 1990, at the NYC Lesbian & Gay Community Services Center.
I’d like to thank the Planning Committee for including Other Countries among the many diverse people in our community to welcome and celebrate Dr. Marjorie Hill’s appointment.
Other Countries is a community dedicated to affirming and documenting our experiences as Gay Men of African Heritage.
Our goal is to create a visible and enduring cultural institution committed to nurturing and preserving our creative expression through presentations and community outreach.
We are currently in our fourth year and thank all of you who have supported us in so many ways, for the encouragement.
In tandem with that support, we are conducting an open reading this Saturday from 5-10 pm. Most of my work this year has been in understanding difference and myself. I’d like to share with you a short poem which recognizes the many written works that have helped in directing my anger in constructive ways as well as shaped and healed my life. You could call it Quotable Titles: A Bibliography, or simply, “As Told To Me.”
They say the child was born
With a veil over his head
A darker brother
Livin’ among the things that used to be
In the spirit
And the flesh
Of Africans __________ mi madrina __________native sons __________buried hearts and
Wounded knees
Each night __________midnight birds pass by his window
Singin’ ________ songs of Solomon ________ serious pleasures ________ coyotes
Flamingoes ________ bears dew locks ________ salteaters ________ homegirls
handgrenades
His bondage and ________ his freedom
He speaks of
_______ Black Indians
__________ ___ Chinese Doctors
__________ _________ Sisters
__________ __________ ____ Outsiders
Lives before
The Mayflower _____ and _____ Columbus
He speaks of
The evidence
Of things not seen
If the beginning of all circles is also the ending
Let the circle be unbroken
Voices in the whirlwind
No longer at ease
Gather together in his name
Speaking in tongues
On the mountain
Untied
They say
“In this life, as you travel through other countries.
Remember — some of us are brave and will always
support you on this bridge called our backs!”
© B.Michael Hunter 1990
Palm of My Hand
If I had one dream in the palm of my hand
It would be to see tomorrow
If someone questioned me
And asked me to say
What would you hope for
My reply
simple and sweet
is to see tomorrow
Now there is some joy
in knowing that you had
the joys of today
It’s good,
to be in the moment
look back over what has been
but the thought
of facing yet another day
now that’s some joy
I want to have
So I will say
simple and sweet
I’d like so much
I’d like so much
you can be sure
I’d like to see tomorrow
I’d like to see tomorrow
© B.Michael Hunter 1990
Below, on the back of a 4″ x 6″ index card, is where B.Michael wrote the “first line” along with the “rest of the words” for Palm of My Hand.
On the front of the same index card is a single line: “Know my hand has taught the waters …” Or is it: “Know my land has taught the waters …”? Wondering if B.Michael auditioned this lyric for the same song or as the seed of another.
To all of you within earshot of B.Michael’s voice, what song or poem emerges for *you* in this moment with this ancestor’s line as a prompt?
Stonewall at 20
Performed at the Hallwalls Gallery in Buffalo, New York
I THINK IT’S FITTING
I THINK IT’S FITTING
THAT WE OPEN UP TONIGHT’S PROGRAM
I THINK IT’S FITTING
AND I’M HERE TO TELL YOU
I’M HERE TO TELL YOU
SO THAT YOU DON’T FORGET
THAT BLACK FAGGOTS
OUR OWN ROYALTY
BLACK FAGGOTS
OUR OWN FATHERS
BLACK FAGGOTS
DRESSED IN WOMEN’S CLOTHING
WERE THERE
AMONG THE RUCKUS
THE FLYING BOTTLES
THE CAT CALLING
ON THE FRONTLINE
I THINK IT’S FITTING
STANDING IN DEFIANCE
GIVING LESSONS
READING (SNAP)
GIVING MALCOLM / MARTIN TESTIMONY
I THINK IT’S FITTING
SO WE DON’T FORGET
THAT BLACK DRAG QUEENS
ACTING AS A CATALYST
A RAY OF HOPE
A VOICE BEFORE UNHEARD
WERE THERE
IN THE BEGINNING OF “THE MODERN LESBIAN AND GAY MOVEMENT”
WHEN I’M ASKED
WHEN I’M ASKED
TO IMAGINE STONEWALL
TO THINK ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS
I CELEBRATING MY 20TH ANNIVERSARY ON THIS EARTH
MY BIRTH IN THE RIOTS
WHEN I’M ASKED TO IMAGINE STONEWALL
WHAT IT MEANS TO ME
I THINK ABOUT HOW I’LL BE REFLECTED IN HISTORY
SO I THINK IT’S FITTING
THAT WE OPEN TONIGHT’S PROGRAM
I THINK IT’S FITTING
THAT WE PAY HOMAGE TO BLACK AND LATIN DRAG QUEENS
WHO WERE ON THE FRONT LINE
SO MY ANSWER
WHEN ASKED MY IMAGE OF STONEWALL
IS QUITE SIMPLE
ON THIS, MY 20TH ANNIVERSARY ON THIS EARTH
MY IMAGE OF STONEWALL IS ME
© B.Michael Hunter 1989