By Emmy Schroeder
You put on our funny shows and we laugh together. You
turn your head towards mine and smile.
Isn’t this fun? Just us?
But something changes.
[Before you ever call me a faggot.]
Your laughter becomes desperate. I stop returning your gaze. Your stares linger on my
His shouts from downstairs,
You unlock my bedroom door. Go to sleep. You
[Why can’t we ever be sad together, mama?]
I can hear your laughter over
the sound of the television,
or is it weeping?
Emmy Schroeder is from Austin, Texas. She received her undergraduate degree from Texas Tech University. Her work has been published in Screen Door Review and is forthcoming in The Sterling Spoon. She is a queer transgender woman living in Los Angeles, California.