There it is, on the thrift store rack between a muu-muu and a sundress. Nuts! Another metaphysical orphan. Where is THIS weird story headed? I know my work when I see it, and often that first glance carries a felt sense of I hate it. Wish I could say it's all butterflies and rainbows, but turning poison into medicine doesn't work that way. I buy the long black cassock, give it a new, intentionally yonic red cotton pocket to replace a mysteriously missing one, and then park it in the coat closet to marinate for a year or so.

Queering the Black Coat is a journey into reclaiming the body from patriarchal religion, finding joy in the midst of global disaster, and transmuting the disliked into the heart of freedom.