tenacity of sand

grandma made this dress with her hands

made the baby indirect by salt and stay

pop-pop grows his beard to match

the length of grace the lace of claim

made the baby indirect by salt and stay

made the brown in sun and softness over days

the length of grace the lace of claim

the strange perpetuation of a name

made the brown in sun and softness over days

to come to borrow and believe in both

the strange perpetuation of a name

that doesn’t claim them either

to come to borrow and believe in both

the breathing and the thickness of the blood

the wild unclaimed

tenacity of sand

the breathing and the thickness of the blood

pop-pop grows his beard into

tenacity of sand

grandma made this dress with both her hands

(This poem is for my paternal grandparents and yet it is also against normative ideas about paternity. My grandmother designed and made this christening gown for me and it has also been worn by my sister, by cousins, and other babies in our family. As a grown queer rebel who now knows more about my paternal grandparents fathers and their harm, and also the limits of patriarchy that left my grandfather unclaimed even though he used and passed on the name of his father, I focus on the gown as a handmade claim. Another way of holding. And look at my grandmothers hands. Yes. They have made worlds. So this is for Lydia and Jeremiah. And also for you, relearning how to make the world by hand right now. For all of you discovering which claims are in name only and which ones come with care, that can actually clothe you, shelter you, hold you in this moment. With love and tenacity.)