Mother

In Search of Queer Heritage

Mother

The nazis hid them

The plague silenced them

The cide takes them

We are what's left.

Book burnings tour the holes in my skin

Love named the most dangerous man in Germany

Giving birth to the movement's first daughter

The allies fled

The trannies bled

Baptizing my girlhood in slaughter

I throw my memories onto the pyre.

Gatekeepers mute my hearbeat

Silence named the cause of death

Making way for the din of more life

The doctors tested

The faggots rested

Inscribing the chants on my scythe

I leave my genes in the quarantine.

Panic defenses scab my feet

Murder named suitable for the reaction

Giving guns to the trans revolution

The alphas cry

The she-males die

Forging my armed evolution

I bury my house under the courtroom.

My heritage is blood and survival

I will tear it from its grave

I will wear it on my lungs

The house is on fire

The queen has fallen

Liberation is at hand

Start tucking yourself into bed

All of the mothers are dead.

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Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Aoife McAndless-Davis

I like writing about the experiences of young LGBTQIA+ people. And maybe some other stuff too. Pronouns: they/them

See all posts by Aoife McAndless-Davis