A wise woman at the Dyke March told my friend they should buy the studded leather collar they were eyeing.
She said her days of public bondage were over, more so we knew they had happened than to lament something lost.
She moved with the quiet smiling softness of knowing our futures.
I’m jealous of her cheeky, knowing smile.
I know youth is fleeting and precious but more and more I’m dreaming of crows’ feet and calloused palms.
So I carry my grandmother’s sigh and my grandfather’s laugh wrapped up in my ribs as scaffolding for my soul.
I find comfort in vintage stores piled high with trinkets made priceless by the touch of time.
I wear pants tailored to a grandfather from the 70s and sweaters passed from the backs of mothers whose daughters have grown old.
And I keep hoping that pull of the future will be easier to balance against the counterweight of the past.
Kiran Niet (she/they) is a storyteller, communicator, and creator. While they complete their bachelor’s degree in global and international studies at Carleton University, they dabble in journalism, spoken-word poetry, and all kinds of visual art. They are a queer child of immigrants, dreamers and artists.