Andy Barrow
Long Beach / August 2022
I am not ready for The Pines
for the speedos:
designer made
designed to make
men look divine
or feel undone
I am not ready for The Pines
for the bodies:
bronzed and lean
the pectorals
puffed yet hard
the stomachs
strong and smooth
the muscles
sweaty, slick
cast in
sharp shadow
by the summer sun.
I am not ready for The Pines
for the dancing:
carousels of men
free and free and free
careening
screaming
choruses I have long whispered
I wanna dance with somebody
too.
Those dancing men
their confidence,
their knowingness
That this song and this night and this place
are theirs
all theirs
seized young
earned well
in harder times, through harder youths
more honest youths
and summers past.
I am not ready for The Pine
least of all,
for the walking:
hip-to-hip,
hand-in-hand,
arm-on-shoulder,
friends and lovers
traversing those
surprising sidewalks
made of wood.
Those trails laid by
brave men
who claimed a
strip of sand
for us.
I could not
even claim
the word
for me:
gay.
Gay
lone syllable
profound truth
buried,
buried beneath
diligence!
distraction…
delusion?
buried beneath
a house
a ring
a wife
she’s somewhere now
hurting
at my hand
since the word
came to me
came at me
came for me
gay.
The word
unburied itself
rumbling
roaring
crashing
like an Atlantic wave.It came
and I crashed
on my own shore.
I’m here, now
on the shore
watching
the Atlantic waves
large, cold
rough, refreshing
frightening, fun
We try to gauge
a wave
try to know
its force
try to greet it
the right way:
I’ll go over.
I’ll go under.
I’ll dive through.
But a wave is much greater
than us
tugged by forces much greater
than it
A wave can
take a life.
Maybe it can give one, too.
I’m on the shore, now
watching the
Atlantic waves
cold water
at my feet
I’m standing somewhere
miles east
of The Pines
miles away from
that place
where
men dance
and
men glisten
and
men walk
That place…
their world…
maybe next year?
Maybe never.
I am not ready for The Pines.
But at least
I’m standing
where I am
and at least
at last,
I have the word
I whisper it
again:
gay.
It lingers
in the salty air
a syllable, a song
I am not ready for The Pines
for now
that’s somewhere
miles east
for now
there’s water
at my feet
for now
I’m standing
where I am
watching the
Atlantic waves
Andy Barrow is a New York–based writer whose debut novel, Peter in Progress, draws inspiration from his own later-in-life gay awakening. When he’s not writing, Andy is likely perfecting his backhand, chasing his next cold brew, or making up for lost time on the dance floor.