Summertide

We are here, 

on the spine between seasons, 

the summer solstice. 

This longest day of the year, 

unfurled to give us the most daylight hours to transition. 

It is natural,

it is right, 

it is normal, 

it is celebrated, 

this transition.

We know that living things are supposed to do this, the growth, the tender leaves lolling out like tongues, tasting the newness of this season, every flavor of it, its hot dust and wet splash of salted beach waters. 

The sun is at its highest altitude, meaning we are bright and seen. 

We get to be 

brave and bold and showy 

because we have done the brawny work of 

planting and mulching and sprouting,

we are doing it right now, 

and it is worth looking at. 

We focus so much on this being the longest day of the year, but let us not forget it is also the shortest night. 

This means less rest. 

This means less cozy darkness to blanket ourselves in and hide beneath. 

This means more visibility.

It makes sense that summer solstice is during pride month. 

it is a reminder of the naturalness, the neededness, of transition. 

We celebrate this evolution together, 

by speaking our truths, 

by speaking something beautiful. 

We honor the changeover of living beings, 

we rejoice in the exquisiteness of 

our wild plants, 

our tended plants, 

our grafted plants, 

the ones we snip and shape, 

knowing they needed this, 

knowing that they are stronger, more resilient, more gorgeous for it. 

We know that if the fruit is too heavy for us to hold, we will break.

We prune and water and add fertilizers for health and longevity and prosperity. 

Because we know what happens when we don’t. 

We bolt.

We go to seed too early. 

we die. 

I am talking about plants. 

I am also not talking about plants. 

When we wax poetic about nature, let us not forget that our soft human bodies are a part of it, not apart from it. and just like these plants we are more resilient when we are diverse, when our bodies grow and change in different ways from one another, when our nodes nod to different branches, when our hearts pulse to the flirtatious buzzing of different pollinators. 

Let me be clear: 

this poem is about the rights of trans people. 

the rightness of trans people.

We get choked by conversations of what is right, what is natural, but who are we to tell others that their wild is wrong, that their flowers should be another color or a singular shape. 

We fancy ourselves the gardener, 

wielding our shears at what is deemed unruly, 

but really we are the tomato plant, 

twisting our vined hands around what is near and dear, 

our fruits just as perfect whether they are 

roma or cherry or san marzano or better boy or early girl. 

Let us shake the heat crinkled leaves of yesterday and make room for tomorrow’s green. 

Let us deadhead our spent blooms. 

Let us thank our autumn selves, our winter selves, our spring selves, for all we have been.

But let us step into our summer selves now. 

Let us progress into selves that are warmed towards the other living things around us, that burn hot for the varied vibrancy that sprouts in unexpected places.

Let us share our waters as our roots tangle beneath the soils of the everyday.

Let us trust one another to know what is best for our own cultivation. 

And let us celebrate the sunshiney joy this luminous transition offers. 

Happy solstice and happy pride.