Asexual Ode to Dolly Parton

 

That summer I listened to Jolene six

times every time I got in the car & I sang

along hard enough to believe it, that it

 

was as simple as there always being an other

waiting, flame-haired, spring-breathed, to take

the one I wanted to call mine only. As if

 

the problem wasn’t my longing. Lack thereof.

& there was so much longing locked into

Dolly’s looping curls. I thought if I loud-sang

 

enough, hard-listened enough, I could learn it.

How to woman myself the way everyone wanted

me to. O Dolly, patron saint of shoulder fringe

 

& sequins, high priestess of Lee Press Ons

& hairspray, how long your longing held me,

summer-voiced, soft enough to show me

 

how every kind of love’s a force that sends you

to your knees, begging, even if I couldn’t love –

again – in a way I could make any other understand.