Xiomara Jean-Louis

Fleeing to Omaha

When antagonists overwhelm our TVs and trains,
And the CVS stops stocking estrogen and SSRIs,
We promised that we would flee to Omaha.
 
Tasting the milkweed along the roads,
Kissing the magnolias and lilies,
But cursing the roses, bison and eagles,
We promised that we would meet in Omaha.
 
When the National Guard smirks at the state border,
Asking for passports, pregnancy, and pantlessness,
We pass by undignified, but indignant on the way to Omaha.
 
Indulging in the waning baleadas from the outlawed taquerias,
Asking for too much cheese, then more,
Giggling and making heart-eyes over bottles of Sprite,
But silencing our lovers’ chatter when men inquire,
We promised to live together in Omaha.
 
When we purchase land as “adopted siblings”,
And survey the uncultivated grasses choking our gay little yards of unplanted freedom,
We decided to build a secret family amongst the farms in Omaha.
 
When the “two lesbians on the street corner” become too infamous,
For their protests against Washington and annoying booth
At the farmer’s market where politics “aren’t allowed”,
Where shall we go, but Omaha?
 
Author’s note:
My girlfriend and I used to joke that, if a zombie apocalypse began while we were still long distance in D.C. and California, then we would escape to Omaha, our equidistant point. With the prospect of outlawed queer marriages, queer relationships, queer selves looming, our plan seems ever more poignant.