I was hesitant to pick up In Love as a newlywed. I am superstitious enough to worry about inviting misfortune by way of acknowledging it. But when I stood under the chuppah last November and married my husband, I remember thinking about death.
In Frances Goldin’s apartment, we found a powerful sign: “I Adore My Lesbian Daughters.”
Three poems from Lesléa Newman about the impact of her mother’s death on her father and herself.
Just as the form held the poems together, writing the poems held me together.
My San Antonio tía was not a matriarch in the usual sense. She didn’t leave children and grandchildren to add to the breadth of the family tree. Her gift was longevity, her mental resilience.
