Sometimes, community is right here, under our noses or, we can build it if we will.
For the Archives Women
Marge McDonald was born in Ohio to an empty street and the longing for a woman’s kiss. Somehow, she knew that a smooth dress was waiting on the other side of this long drive. Her fingers tap gently the keys for diary transcriptions of her newly made history, not wanting to be forgotten, Marge McDonald was only one girl at the bar, but now has millions of words to speak their names.
Paula won the raffle and cut the ribbon, Polly
spoke on the mic and sang our rejoices while Joan kissed her neighbor and Deb wiped a tear. The band’s drum rang into Prospect Park
and the doors opened wide home.
Today a box was stripped of masking tape. Transparency peeled from the parting lips. Inside sat that special Lesbo Blend French Roast coffee, fifty evenly nestled smooth packets, now encapsulated in tin. Sitting in a sunny corner, wondering why the library of congress named us social science instead of history, I remember her too, in this special Archive where we lesbians do the naming.
If you’re in New York, and haven’t yet visited the Lesbian Herstory Archives, see the Calendar for open hours. I’ll be staffing on Sunday, January 29th, 2pm – 6pm.
Maybe I’ll see you there!