The World Underneath by Tayson Richard;

The World Underneath by Tayson Richard;

Author:Tayson, Richard;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Kent State University Press


III.

The will to change begins in the body not in the mind

—ADRIENNE RICH

I DO

I bought the rings at R. J. White Jewelers

from the old man with cataracts

who handed me the black velvet tray,

like a silver tureen reflecting black

orchids at the reception after

we’d kissed. I took

the tray and as I started to shake,

he told me to try one on for size,

then turned his back and blew

dust and dried rose petals

from the mantle. “Been in business

forty years,” he said, rubbing

his finger over a smudged

mirror. So I chose the one

with tiny grooves etched

along the edge, I put it on

my ring finger, left hand—what

was I doing, this was not something

I could have planned for

or foretold, once done

it could never be cancelled.

“That’s nice,” he said, and told me

how he’d opened the shop in 1963,

same location, two hundred thirty dollars

to spare and a love of metals

that alchemized to liquid gold

under fire. “Back then

there weren’t too many boys like you

buying rings, no sir. This was

before Stonewall, of course.”

It had been years since I was called

a boy, and I thought how I was seven

the day in 1969 those men

in skirts and high heels stood up,

three blocks away, for the lives

of people like me who would one day

walk into a shop and buy a ring

for another man’s finger. “You sure

this will fit him,” I asked, looking

down at that perfect gold

circle, like a halo that would taste

of fire if I put it on my tongue

and swallowed. He patted my hand,

the way a grandmother would

and said, “If it doesn’t, bring him in

and I’ll serve the champagne I keep

chilled in back for special occasions.”

R. J. winked then, and a white

poodle appeared, as if the dog knew

those syllables of drink by heart,

and I supposed they’d been living there,

together, since 1963, watching the years

go by like the parade passing

down Christopher each fourth

Sunday in June. Let me not

to the marriage of true minds

admit impediments, so I gave him

five hundred eighty-six dollars

and held in my hand the velvet case,

soft as my lover’s palm, and went

to the Stonewall Bar to pay

my debt of gratitude with two

sips of gin and the feel

of names carved in the countertop:

Michael loves Robert,

Bill + Guillermo forever.

I started to get sentimental,

so I took the F train home and found

him on the couch in his underwear,

I held him for a long time, kissed

his lips and the room crowded close

around us, everyone we loved

took a seat, relatives alive

and dead, friends alive

and dead, everyone who had been

imprisoned for kissing in public,

the ones who were tortured

and had their tongues cut out,

the ones kept in boxes

the size of the body, the ones

tied to a fence and beaten

in the name of God. In front

of them all, I held the hand

of the man I loved

and said I wanted him in my life

for as long as I have my life.

His eyes welled up, and I tasted

salt in the corners of my mouth,

then I tasted his salt inside

my mouth as we

married each other

in front of the Van Wyck Expressway

at 6:15 on June 8th, a Tuesday

which will never repeat itself.



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