Nov. 5, 2024– A Response to Sharon Olds and The Election

by Emily Semaya

Dear word, I’m sorry so many 

of the very people you represent hate you. I’m sorry 

they replace you with words that taste cleaner in the mouths

of the very ones we are supposedly so separated from–

words more palpable to those lesbianless

in this sorry world. I’m sorry they took

your power from you, that they removed the body

from the land– Sapphic is anartfully 

ambiguous. I’m sorry they stripped 

your autonomy from you, as they did

with my and her and your uterus yesterday.

I’m sorry they removed your singularity,

your intentionality, your “Exclusivity.” Sappho, 

of the Island of Lesbos, I’m sorry

that you would be disappointed with what they did

to your name, your legacy. I’m sorry they inserted men into

the lips of those that were meant to kiss yours and ours

and anything but theirs. I’m sorry that he took your name 

in vain and raped the layrnx of those of us without power

to protect each other. I’m sorry that you, word, have been

patronized by the patriarchal, sexualized by the heterosexual–

dictionarily deemed “sometimes erotic or sensual.” I’m sorry you’ve 

been thrust, tamped, strangled in between lerp-a hardened,

sweet secretion– and a slur. But, my word,

I love you. The way you force my tongue onto my teeth and out 

of my mouth to say your name; the way it opens after, 

for you. 

To you. 

With You. 

And then it fastens my face back 

together; a grin, a grimace, a groan. And it ends together, too, 

confident & messy. There’s nothing to uncover with you, it’s opaque

overt, & honest. I could be content with you & just your word.

No validation is necessary when I have you

to defend me.