Kyke Dyke

Kyke Dyke by Sarah Young - Photo by Aliza Abusch-Magder

Kyke dyke.
That’s what they used to call me.
So funny,
Watch me laugh.
I see the appeal.
It’s short,
It’s catchy,
It rhymes.
But I’m a poet now,
And I know that things don’t have to rhyme,
And that sometimes when they do,
They’re tacky.
Or forced.
I used to hear snickers
as I walked down the halls.
People would whisper
“Kyke dyke”
Like I couldn’t hear them,
Like it wouldn’t matter if I did.
And then I looked to the Jewish community,
And I found Keshet.
I found other queer Jews,
Like the fearless queer hipsters at KlezKanada.
I even met other kyke dykes:
who I worked with on the newspaper,
And who always knows just what to say.
Whose voice is always raised
For those who cannot defend themselves.
An incredible friend
And wonderful person.
I saw the beauty
In being a Jewish lesbian,
In finding love
With a strong Jewish woman,
The product of thousands of years of oppression and resurgence.
I saw the beauty
In knowing that God wants us to be happy
With each other.
Kyke dyke became a battle cry,
Something I call myself.
Something my friends and I are proud to call each other.
We were created by God as we are:
Holy kyke dykes.

Accompanying Photo: “Untitled” By Aliza Abusch-Magder
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