this bridge called my back
lego does not cry
sometimes i wish you and i were lego
figures, stuck on slabs of green block, with bodies
that look the same, that curve nowhere, that
cannot be seen, with body parts that are inter-
changable. i would take off my short crop plastic hair
and let you put your round hand down the hole in my
lego head, and then wear your curls, over my blue square chest
we would fix our claws and square feet into each other’s,
your foot coming out of my hand, and laugh our lego love
i would take off my head and fit yours on my
neck where there would be no throat that chokes, just happy
plastic. and we would swing our legs and march over lines and bricks
and i would hang through the chewed off cracks in yellow walls, fix my
claw into empty spaces. i’d stick you on my hip and jump down walls
and carry you across all plastic borders and lands that
slide in children’s minds, and yes i’d carry you always
even across their hard-played houses that look ugly real
and even with our clumsy bodies that curve in spaces that are not ours
that cannot ever be fixed on any land, or block, or brick,
i’d carry you always, on this bridge called my back*
*phrase adopted from This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria E. Anzaldúa.