'Maryville' & Queer World-Building (w/ Joelle Taylor) - The Loudcast

So I read a poem about the Maryville Bar, this dyke dive bar, and we're going to go in a little bit further and just look at one of my friends.

So this book is about four butch dykes, hey? and they're dead, and they were my friends.

And so it's an attempt to kind of resurrect them in some way and honour them.

And, you know, this one's called Angel.

Angel was the youngest among us.

In our culture, butch culture, which actually has a very maternal role within the queer community, we're literally the opposite of what you see, awkward.

When you're much younger, you're called a boy, B-O-I.

And you're kind of... much closer to the source of trauma, the trauma you experience generally is a bit of a feller face, a butch dyke.

And growing up, you're often battered a lot and various things happen to you.

So this is for Angel, who was very handsy, absolutely terrifying.

And I adored her.

Angel.

When Angel looks in the mirror...

It looks away first.

Star fist, open jaw.

How the shine becomes you, clean friend.

Taller than yesterday, spine and unravelling plot you.

Odd insistence.

A king of the blue tattoo.

Eyebrow pinned prince butterfly.

When you walked in the room, it became you.

How you brought the silence in with you.

How you brought the night to its knees Back there where the quiet ones go And now the night won't stop texting How many times have we walked home, you and I, only to find home walking softly behind us? I've seen you leap over language to push a man back inside himself, throw pint glasses like seed, speak to every woman as if she were your mother.

I have seen your fists sob.

At the centre of every boy is a bare room and inside a swinging lightbulb, a wire thin girl dances, stays with you even when you look away.