Lesbian Fashion Struggles by Caroline Earleywine
Sibling Rivalry Press, 2020
Lesbian Fashion Struggles, the poetry chapbook by Caroline Earleywine, is brave, poignant, sad, hilarious, and triumphant. In a back-of-the-book blurb, Megan Falley writes: “Caroline Earleywine has written the book so many of us needed when we were younger.” I wanted to hear more about Caroline’s role as a lesbian high school English teacher working and living in Arkansas. I read these poems as essentially reflecting Caroline’s own experiences, and she confirmed my assumption. Caroline graciously agreed to dig deep and answer some probing questions. Her answers are what we all need to hear right now about the life and loves of a Southern US small-town lesbian.
Risa Denenberg: Can you describe the community where you live and teach? The place where you are an out lesbian teaching high school English?
Caroline Earleywine: I’ll be honest, it’s a struggle to answer this question. This election and the last four years have left me with a lot of feelings surrounding my community, partly feelings of defensiveness and protectiveness and partly feelings of disappointment and rejection. I’m trying to hold all those truths in my hand at the same time.
RD: There has been so much disruption for teachers and students during this pandemic year. How has living during COVID-19 affected your role as a teacher? Are you teaching in the classroom or on Zoom these days?
CE: My teaching situation at our school is a hybrid; I teach one section of a virtual class and the rest are face to face. Kids have quarantined, returned to the classroom, then going virtual, then returning again. It’s pretty hectic.
RD: I couldn’t help tearing up reading your poem “GSA.”
Who better
to prepare me, to teach me how to live life outside
of a closet than the same kids who clap every time I say
my wife?
Tell me about being the advisor to your school’s Gay Student Association. I love your positive role modeling, your students’ faith in you and the reciprocation of courage. But I’m also concerned that “a conservative radio station would post my engagement / photo online like a Wanted Poster.” Was your job ever threatened because you are a married lesbian? Are there more subtle ways that your colleagues or supervisors threaten your job, or make you uncomfortable at work?
CE: Being the advisor to our school’s LGBTQ club is one of my greatest joys in life. I started being the sponsor for it while I was still closeted at work, and they are honestly a huge reason I had the courage to come out. The incident with the radio station was the first time I experienced such direct homophobia and harassment. I grew up with some pretty homophobic messaging in my hometown, but nothing that felt this direct and personal. (This is partly because I hadn’t been out that long, but I also understand it is very much a privilege that I went that long in my life without it.) It definitely gave me more insight to what some of my students go through, and it ultimately freed me. The thing I had feared, being outed, was done very publicly. My administration was supportive, and my job wasn’t in trouble. It was liberating, and I don’t think I would have been brave enough to write and publish the book I did without that happening.
RD: The story you tell in “A Public Dog” suggests the possibility that having a “not public dog” may be good protection in gun-toting territory:
She lunged toward him, my wife struggling to pull
her back.
//
He smirked. Lit a cigarette.
Stood his ground and called after us as we rushed
away, She don’t seem like a public dog.
It seems you are a dog-lesbian. As a cat-lesbian, please defend your turf! Is this a regional variation? A fashion statement? Please talk lesbian dog to me.
CE: I am definitely a dog lesbian! Honestly a lot of that probably stems from my need to be needed, and our dogs are thoroughly obsessed with us. I know more dog lesbians around here than cat lesbians, and it may be because there are so many outdoor adventures to be had in Arkansas, and dogs are the perfect companions for that. I have a soft spot for dogs considered to be “not public.” Last year, we almost adopted a pit bull we found wandering on the street. He was the sweetest, most gentle pup you’d ever meet. Luckily we found the owners; I don’t think we’re ready to be outnumbered quite yet.
RD: In the eponymous poem, “Lesbian Fashion Struggles,” you describe the stress you and your wife felt when deciding how to dress for your wedding, “in hopes // we’ll find something / that doesn’t feel like a costume.” This isn’t a question. I want a wedding picture!
CE: I’m happy to provide a wedding picture! The poem was actually referring to us getting dressed to go to someone else’s wedding, or any formal event for that matter, and was after our own wedding. We were pretty early into our exploration of figuring out what felt most like us as far as formal wear when we got married. (Which like I said in the poem, is just freaking tough to figure out!) For example, my wife doesn’t even own a dress now, and if we got married tomorrow, they definitely wouldn’t be wearing one. But it’s nice to look back at that and see how we’ve grown even more into ourselves since then.
RD: I adore your hair, both the color and the style. In “Blonde,” you show how long hair can be weaponized. Being a femme can make it more difficult to flash “lesbian”; on the other hand, it sometimes is a relief to take a pass. Despite the title, Lesbian Fashion Struggles, with your hair along with the tats, you do seem to totally own your fashion style. So I wonder:How do your queer students view butch and femme? What language do they use to describe how they present?
CE: You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard my students use the words “butch” or “femme,” and I’m trying to think, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them much discuss or talk about the way they present. Haircuts tend to be a big deal and noteworthy of discussion, particularly for students who are on the transgender spectrum. I find that they tend to be much more fluid, both with their gender presentation and sexuality.
RD: In “On the Drive Home from the Transgender Day of Visibility Celebration,” you describe your wife as “binary” with “short hair / and boyish clothes” in juxtaposition with “men throwing punches.” How safe (or unsafe) are transgender queers in your community?
CE: I don’t want to speak for a community that I’m not part of, but I’ll say that having a nonbinary spouse who presents in a more obviously queer way than me has given me insight I wouldn’t normally have. There are spaces where transgender people are less safe than others in this community, and I’m fairly certain that’s accurate in any community.
RD: How did you hear about Sibling Rivalry Press?
CE: Sibling Rivalry Press is actually based out of Little Rock, which is where I live. I would see Bryan Borland, the creator, and Seth Pennington, the editor-in-chief, around town at poetry events. At one Pride event they gave away free books, and I took home the anthology This Assignment Is So Gay, which is a collection of poems from queer educators about teaching. I don’t know that I’d ever felt so seen by a book and a press.
RD: As a high school English teacher, assuming you teach lit and poetry, who are your go-to authors?
CE: As far as my go-to authors, a new favorite poet is Nate Marshall. The title poem from his book, “FINNA,” was such a big hit with my students. It changed how they thought about language and opened up the door for what poetry can be a little wider. This is my second year teaching seniors, and Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle and Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun has been a great pairing as far as longer texts. I finished off last year with them with a discussion on the poem “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver, and it was such a beautiful way to end the year.
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Caroline Earleywine teaches high school English in Central Arkansas where she tries to convince teenagers that poetry is actually cool. She has her M.F.A. from Queens University in Charlotte and lives in Little Rock with her wife and two dogs.
Risa Denenberg lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, where she works as a nurse practitioner. She is a co-founder and editor at Headmistress Press and curator at The Poetry Café. She has published six collections of poetry, most recently the full-length collection slight faith (MoonPath Press, 2018) and the chapbook Posthuman, finalist in the Floating Bridge 2020 chapbook competition.