There is nothing so opaque as being
a trans parent. And yet, in familiarity,
they see right through you. Able only to see
in a distance who you were, without
resting on your heart. It’s hard
to understand whether a father left off
caring, understanding or being strong
when somewhere, inside this not-mother
a voice speaks, vulnerable as they.
I shall never pass here, only be different –
as if swallowed, digested, absorbed
by someone uninvited to their home.
I have become thin – a veil on their whole
lifetime, from first blue-eyed recognition
to this struggle with a strangeness.
So thin, so hard to focus on, that I am
deep as an ocean, clear as water, a sea
through which a seahorse passes unseen.
2012 © Andie Davidson
From the new collection Realisations published by Bramley Press.