LGBTQ+ Poem: Hitchhiker, by Ilyse Simon

The walking house-less root our society
Remind us of our nomadic past
Not home -less,
As we carry our hearth and clan
With us
Along with indispensable pieces of string, bolts, a Playmobil girl thrown from a car window that lands next
to the apple core that disintegrates
Seeds embed in the crack of the pavement
Sensing dirt
And life

So many stories to tell from what we carry in our pockets
Army knife, dental floss, pen.
Essentials on the road.

In Shibuya I take a ride from a trucker
Countless repetitions of Whitney Houston on cassette
He asks me for sex.
Very politely and in English.
Pulls into the lavish truck stop with massage chairs and steam rooms
His arms spread wide awaiting my leap forward into them
“Sex now?” He queries.

From my small catalog of Japanese words
I pull out a few useful strong roadblocks
“No! You are dirty dish water! Dishes! No! Kitanai”
Not even in the respectful form.

The universe protecting me
I was not scared,
Only annoyed and grateful.
“Thanks Universe. Message received.”

Once Marisa and I hitchhiked together,
Me Thelma, to her Louise
Her trench coat harboring large kitchen knives needed for work at the rally

They pick us up
Question aloud if we conceal weapons
And drive us
Head for our cliff.

“I think we need to jump?” I tell K.
This quiet Cadillac
I diagnose with

Narcolepsy
Asleep at the wheel,
We get out at The tree.
The only one taller than us in this desert.

Safe, alone, hot,
We eat the peanut butter sandwich and apple in my pocket
Giving thanks, again
To the safety net
Provided by Trusting.

I sleep under the overpass
Feeling secluded in our tent
Warriors of the road
We do not sleep in motels.

Vagabond, nomad, traveler, pilgrim, walker
Not lost
Only finding joy and surety in the Way.

In West Virginia, after our day’s miles,
We puddle in a pile and read aloud
The Tao of Pooh.
My Christopher Robin narrates to Jen’s Piglet, Marisa’s Eeyore, Lynn’s Owl, and the heart of us, Kieran’s
Pooh.

We are not lost.
We have found
A sisterhood, imaging our retirement in the Home for Aged Dykes.
We, The Bone People.
“Together, all together, we are the instruments of change.