Reasons Hidden By Leaves

By Aaron Jordan Gabaldon

A romantic book of prose, poetry, and other writings that explore gay culture, spirituality. love, sex, identity, and self-empowerment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387563937

Book preview

Reasons Hidden By Leaves

Reasons Hidden By Leaves

by Aaron Jordan Gabaldon

Copyright

Copyright © 2018 by Aaron Jordan Gabaldon

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2018

ISBN 978-1-387-56393-7

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my grandparents; to my grandfather, Juan Gabaldon, who taught me what it means to be loved, and to my grandmother, Pamela Jaramillo, who taught me to believe in magic. I love you both and I wish you were both still here.

And to Christine, without whom I never would have reached the finish line.

Editor’s Note

Dorian Gray sat in my bookshelf and on my shoulder, begging to be reborn in me. This is how Aaron Gabaldon describes his own calling in the piece entitled Self-Portrait. It is one small, yet endlessly revealing glance at the whole literary canvas, Reasons Hidden by Leaves. Gabaldon’s calling manifests itself in this intimate collection, painting a portrait of spiritual power, dark whimsy, and rapturous desire. It is not merely a compilation of poetry; it is a book of spells.

From his devotion to figures in Greek mythology, to his raw determination to find love, this collection exhibits an other-worldly indomitable spirit, lovingly caressed into playful, clever, and breath-taking turns of phrase. Gabaldon has a gift for optimism, even in the darkest hour. On this journey from the gentility of childhood themes to the full disarming reality of life, he faces the most probing, haunting questions of his existence, while gripping tightly to love with both hands. Where one minute, he uses scathing humour to criticize uncooperative travel agents, he bares his true open-hearted nature to fellow travelers in the next.

Aaron Gabaldon’s work radiates a uniquely queer energy full of romance, sensuality, and intellect, all with the vulnerability and wit that epitomizes gay culture and gay art. Reasons Hidden by Leaves conjures the magic of witchcraft in all its uses—as a genuine way of life, as a last ditch effort to mend the broken pieces of an oft-abused heart, as a passionate love affair with empowerment and mysticism. Even the most mundane crayons, airplane rides, and scarecrows are revered for their transcendent potential through Gabaldon’s eyes. And his words breathe enchantment into them through poetry and prose of devastating beauty.

Christine Astor

Reasons Hidden By Leaves

Crayons

Crayons: dark green, bright red, lavender to deep purple fit for a king—caressing lines too bold to blur without breaking. Shades of wax hues falling on paper from his caramel-colored fingers, moving; sometimes in slow processions and in others, steady jerks. In choosing the color that would fit in my palm, I kept his skin tone in my back pocket, hoping I could place it in my hand as if it were his. I watched him as he brought paper birds and paper dogs to life, while I tried too hard not to let my paper heart bleed. I remember the stern look on his face while he worked, a look that would only soften when his eyes met mine, asking for my approval, asking for me to stand with his purple people like friends I would have forever.

Behind him the walls were lined with letters. E for the Elephant in the room that I didn’t know how to talk about yet. F for Fish—a red herring, moving my eyes from my own paper back to his skin. G for something I didn’t understand, but felt like carpet beneath me. G for something gathered over time that would paste together like a Popsicle stick house he and I could grow old in.

The bell rang and our teacher plucked us out of our seats like the yellow tulips he taught me to draw. My two lips parted to ask him if he needed a partner for tetherball. He did, and while the other kindergarteners hit the jungle gym called the Big Toy, he toyed with my understanding of the world. I was a boy and he was a boy. Our hands could not hold each other’s so they kissed in secret while passing the ball back and forth.

We sat together at lunch on brown tables with our best friends who were confused by our chosen pairing. We were too young to see that what made us the same as people made us different in what we took home from our relationship. My quiet understanding of love was fascination, and that’s what he did to me. The way he wanted to stand at the front of the line—but only if I went with him—captivated me.

And when I asked my mother what the feelings between us when our hands touched and our bodies embraced meant, she said nothing. After summer burnt away spring and the fallen leaves began to cover the damage, I searched for him at the front of the line. But instead of waiting for me to follow, he had another with him; one whose pink hair ribbons fell like curtains over my quiet little love story. I loved a boy who grew into the marrying kind, but he, clad in black, would pass the words I do back and forth through the clear, colorless air with a woman wearing white.

I