cerulean chasm

I laugh at the belts:

two lines of blue,  

no difference to me.  

You say it matters—  

you say it has always mattered,  

from gowns to racks,  

from morning to the corner shop.  

We are already wearing it,  

though I thought I stood apart.  

They chose it before us,  

and now the choice  

is pressed into my hands.  

I will not laugh tomorrow 

but lift the belt up to light

perhaps, then, I will see  

        how minutiae  

carry the weight of a world.

.