How grateful i am to have had Minnie-Bruce as a friend and a mentor. Here is the anatomy of one of the most beautiful, sexy, and important relationships in recent queer/trans culture: Minnie-Bruce Pratt, the Alabama Communist, lesbian, mother, poet, anti-imperialist, femme, and Leslie Feinberg, the Jewish, transgender, butch, lesbian Communist writer who completely shifted the lens of transgender struggle to one of historical materialism.
When Minnie-Bruce was alive, she never said once i couldn't ask her about Leslie Feinberg, but, unless the conversation specifically veered into their relationship, and specifically initiated by her, I didn't ask many questions and I certainly didn't pry. Minnie-Bruce, I believe, loved talking about Leslie, but it also made her sad. Sometimes she would tell me a funny story or anecdote, and at the end, her voice would trail off and there would be a long pause before she spoke again. I could tell she was emotional. I knew how deeply she loved Leslie, but it seemed to be a topic only for a time before Leslie died. I respected that [although, MB did tell me some *hilarious* stories about her and Leslie's life together].
Reading 'S/He' for the first time, 1 of 2 of Minnie-Bruce's books that aren't poetry [in the traditional stanza-based sense], I finally read clearly how deep this love was. I read this at work so I couldn't burst into tears like I wanted to, but this queer, lesbian love is so potent and emotional. The whole book isn't about her relationship with Leslie, but I can absolutely tell when it becomes about Leslie. It makes me sad to know I can never tell Minnie-Bruce not only how much I love this, but to hear her cackle when I tell her that some of the erotic prose here is so......well, erotic, that even I blushed several times. And I'm not one to shy away from talking sex. I know she would laugh her ass off if I told her "I can't believe the thoughtful, soft spoken woman I shared a dinner of fried chicken with at a blues Cafe, could make me blush like this." And she would undoubtedly laugh and say "the OLD woman. Don't forget that." I miss her.
Excerpts:
*her recounting a drunk lesbian at a lesbian dance poking fun at MB and Leslie only slow dancing all night*
"A femme friend comes over to laugh and joke. When you fast-dance with her, the same drunk woman says 'you can do that?? Why didn't you? And you reply, 'but this friend isn't the woman I love.' I move with you and against you, slipping back and forth, shifting the earth under our feet."
"The last woman I danced with wanted me to follow, but her hands weren't strong enough to hold me. You know that when you hold me, I will follow."
"Later, over the phone, back in your city far away, you tell me 'When I first kissed you, I felt how you protected your heart.' You say, 'I'm coming back to kiss you again. You will open your mouth to me and I will touch your heart with my tongue.' The invisible mark your lips, teeth, tongue will leave on me. By the time we have this conversation, the marks on my neck, the bruises, are fading. I have called my other lover to tell her I am never coming to bed again."
"Surely I can't be the only one who fears a sisterhood based on biological definitions, the kind that have been used in the larger world to justify everything from job discrimination [because women have smaller brains and aren't as smart] to hysterectomies [because women's wombs make us hysterical]. And I can't be the only one who grew up trained into the cult of pure white womanhood and heard biological reasons given to explain actions against people of color, everything from segregation of water fountains, to lynching. If this gathering of women in the dusty fields beyond the gate is a community based on biological purity, then it offers me, a "real woman", no real safety."