They gave me the name of an angel,
but no wings.
They gave me a name that carried strength
which came in words of comfort.
They gave me the name of one
who appeared as a man,
but was no man.
And I grew into the soft touch of one whose strength lies not in their hands.
When the swinging stick broke skin and the tears trembled in my eyes like my hands and my heart,
they asked why my trembling never gave rise to fists
of rage
and retribution.
“Because,” I said, “he’s my brother.”
You see, the name they gave me carries the weight of judgment,
and one whose strength is God can not release that judgment on a whim.
They thought I was a man, but I never was.
They just couldn’t see the wings I didn’t yet know I had.