Turkey Day Blues

exciting announcement, & thoughts on being trans during the holidays.

Lovers & Friends,

Heeeeeeeeeeeeey. Are you as bloated (& tired) as me post-holiday-that-exists-for-bad-reasons? I hope not. This year, I did a turkey day tour of sorts (AKA ate at 4 different households that had greens, beans, potatoes, tomatoes….)

I also donated to a cool new-to-me org called Queer The Land. Every year, I try & throw whatever dollars I can manage to lose to a Native/Indigenous group on Turkey Day because *gestures everywhere*. Anyway, this holiday season was an interesting one.

Before I get into that, though, I’m coming to you first with some *very exciting* news. My debut full-length poetry collection is NOW AVAILABLE FOR PREORDER!!!!!! Check out the beautiful cover, designed by Zoe Norvell.

Freedom House – a poetry collection that explores internal, interpersonal, & systemic freedom – is now available anywhere you can get books. Deep Vellum, Bookshop, Barnes & Noble – everywhere. I’d rather you support an indie bookstore by buying it there, but do you. If you’d like to support this book, here are some way you can do this:

1. Buy a copy for yourself (& a friend)!

2. Request Freedom House at your local bookstore &/or library! The paperback and e-book ISBN’s can be found under “information” here.

3. Retweet, repost, like, & save my posts about Freedom House (here’s links to twitter, insta, facebook, & linkedin)!

4. Talk about it online using the hashtag #FreedomHouseBook!

5. Follow me on social media (@earthtokb everywhere); I’ll have other opportunities for you to get involved soon!

You should buy Freedom House because it is my life’s work. My coming into transness, accountability, & socio-political consciousness. It hits on topics such as PIC abolition, queerphobia in Black families, abortion, climate change, hormone replacement therapy, capitalism, police brutality, queer sex, toxic masculinity, gender dysphoria, gentrification, anti- Blackness, Black American history, electoral politics, disability, & the white gaze. It is my exclamation point. Buy it because I’d like it to live somewhere that isn’t just in my head & heart.

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Alright, cool! Promo moment over. Popping back to reflections of this holiday season (or at least, this one holiday we all just had). Usually, I’m so anxiety-ridden about the idea of going back home that I put it off until the absolute last minute, then do it & act like nothing happened til I spill my guts in therapy. In the spirit of #GrowingUp, & learning to trust that I have enough support to make it through the pronounced differences between who I am & who I was, I actually did some planning. I made the holiday thing happen & lived to tell the tale. Please clap.

My first stop was with my fiance’s family. Her mom & dad have always been nice, but this was the first year I’d also be having dinner with her grandmother – who is a couple of lifetimes older than me. Given what I know about history, I am always a bit unsettled when in mixed company with white folks, especially white folks older than 60. I was worried, to say the least. Turns out, she was the least of my worries. She he/him’ed me the whole time (that was to be expected), but also asked to read one of my poems. It was a moment. I now can say my audience “transcends age & race” or whatever. We ate, & laughed, & I met lots of people that I already can’t remember the names of. It was cute.

The second stop was my grandmother’s. I told her months ago that I planned to come back for some holiday this year. Because I was so desperate for her cooking, I settled on Turkey Day. Luckily my grandmother has always been supportive of every era of me, doesn’t ask about my now-lower voice, & tries her best to use “KB” as my name. I am still her “granddaughter”, & still referred to with she/her pronouns, but you can’t win them all. I know it’s not on purpose. Misgendering is not as biting as it once was. We ate & talked & she hugged my fiance. It was cute.

The third stop was my parents. What a LONG way we’ve come. They actually speak to my partner when she’s with me. Years ago KB would have NEVER thought this day would come. But there we were, being silently civil with each other. The thing is, I know my parents love me. I just don’t think a preacher & a church piano player was ready to raise a Black, queer, trans, neurodivergent child in the 90s-2010s that was 40 years younger than them, so naturally, we had some growing pains. I remember times when the tension between us was so deafening that I just didn’t come home at all, went months without calling them, wished I was born as anything else. I had some dark times in my childhood room, asking god to change me, mold me into something they wouldn’t say “god can’t accept that & I can’t either” to, etc, etc. But now, they say “tell gaby I said hi” when I call. Now, we can eat at a table– me still as their “daughter”, them still not acknowledging my new (& growing!) beard – & feel like a family together. Going home is a practice in cognitive dissonance, but again, I’m happy that I even went this year. These are the things that would’ve kept me up at night, but now I come, go, & continue being who I was before I went.

My fourth & final stop was with my woes. My back-home friends whom I love being around cause I don’t have to explain shit to them. They are my examples that someone can know you as a thing & change over to something else, no questions asked. They all been knowing me since I was 15; all the hot-mess gender & sexuality crises happened in front of their eyes. & still, they love & see & celebrate me. That’s lit. I hung with them & my fiance, much-needed care after doing the hard stops first, & had a time & then some. We watched Love, Lizzo & laughed over bad pizza & memories.

Then I went home. My actual home, not my hometown. Me & my fiance took turns driving; while it wasn’t my turn, I jotted down some lines. I thanked myself for doing the impossible thing, the always-coming out & going inside & out again, being realistic with what I can gain – all of it. While doing this, one of my uncles called & said “KB”. He then thanked me for paying for food for Turkey Day (I gave my grandma money, & she decided to spend it on food for everyone). It was the sweetest call I could receive. I saved his new number, wished him a good rest of his day, then continued reading & writing, the exact things I’ve always done to process & be.

What were your holidays like? Even better: what color is your spirit today? Mine is blue, the kind you can only see in the ocean. The kind that feels light & real to the touch.

Till next time.

Love, Peace, & Chicken Grease,

KB