"A Compilation of Moments" by Anna Frangenberg

And when we come together

And meet each other at last

After days of wrestling,

Our hearts wringing, our heads ringing,

We see, but differently.

Something about her expression,

Her movements and actions

There’s a certain lack.

A missing, a void.

And her eyes are pale as her skin,

I know there’s feeling there,

But none of it reaches out to me.

My empathy can only go so far,

And she’s restrained the connection.

She tells me I’ve changed.

She’s changed.

We’ve both changed.

She recites my words back to me.

She makes me feel preachy,

I don’t like it.

The way she uses ‘autonomy’

Is vastly different from the way I did.

But she sees it as the same.

Why?

What could she possibly gain from this exchange

That I haven’t already lost?

​

I’m sick in my stomach because of it.

I’m weary in my heart,

And my head is hazy.

​

She tugs at the edge of my shirt

Even though we are very similar in height.

She clings to me

But doesn’t consider me.

I am often reminded that

She never had a moment where she

Knew her parents were people, too.

She looks squarely into my eyes

I look into hers. In those moments there is no fear

There’s no regret or hesitation.

In the moment, it’s just us,

Laying alone in a room,

Together as friends are and should be.

And even in those moments,

Moments where we have to stifle giggles,

Where we gaze at the other and agree that we’re being silly

She didn’t see me.

She didn’t consider me.

How?

Deep in the space underneath my ribs

I know it’s no fault of mine.

I’m open,

I find it difficult to hide myself.

I have no choice but to be genuine

Because I’ve never been anything else.

And when there was nothing else between us but sheer air

She saw me, she didn’t see me.

She took me, but she didn’t take me.

Our friendship was a compilation of moments.

For a moment, we connected.

For a moment, she didn’t tug the hem of my shirt,

But held me by my shoulders.

For a moment, she lets go of this idea of me,

And presently collects me.

A process, not a point.

And those moments, I saw expansion

I saw the end of some exposition.

We weren’t reintroducing ourselves yet again.

We were considering our journey, wordlessly.

And all the while,

I was contemplating its end.

And now I know that I knew,

Even in the good moments when our inequities were forgotten,

It would stop one final time,

And I would be forced to feel my anger

Fully.