blaming Michelangelo for my fascination with art, religion, and naked men
Restaurants,
comic clips,
cats and dogs,
don’t make it
to the feed
right now.
I open the news
in trepidation.
Who have they
terrorized
today?
Whose fear
brought them
pleasure?
Whose distress
made them feel
powerful?
How can the
church lady
post
Disneyland pics
while her heroes
destroy
her neighbor
as herself?
On June 26, 2015, that historic day when the Supreme Court decided that same-sex marriage would be legal in all fifty of the United States, I sat on a bus stop bench near Macy’s on 34th Street waiting for Bob to come out of Sketchers. We had just finished meeting with the lawyer who was preparing closing documents for the sale of our apartment and Bob wanted to look at tennis shoes.
The mundane character of how we received the news was poignant. I was now granted the unfathomable freedom to marry the love of my life who was shoe shopping as I sat on a bench among the unaware Midtown tourists only a half a mile (but a world away) from the epicenter of the impromptu celebrations popping up outside the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village.
seeing god naked 