My EarthMom,
whom I worshiped without question
at least until age ten,
often repeated,
“A place for everything
and everything in its place.”

She was usually talking about kitchen tools,
but I took this issue of place
more personally.

By age ten,
I knew universal hospitality
and redemption
do not invite
or even intend
to include me.

Well-placed safe homes
exclude me,
out of place
in a heterosexual world view
and no natural
or spiritual place to hide
except trembling within demonic secrecy.

It took me awhile,
at least a couple decades
of shunning my beloved Mom

To realize my placement problem
has less to do with choosing to hide
in my out of place closet,
and everything to do
with unquestioned dogmatic homophobia
carrying on in the family room.