come on down to the Mermaid Cafe

                     49 dead

maybe their names don’t matter
	maybe i should just call them all by my own name
     49 carey’s dead
would that make you feel something

but this is not all about me
	this is about Andrea and Mercedes
	this is about Geraldo and Jerald
		          this is about Luis
			    	        Luis
	    			        Luis
				        Luis
			because four of them died that night
				when their pulses were firing full blast
				wrists and jugulars throbbing in time to the dance floor
			hearts watching 
		because here
				here it was supposed to be safe
						safe to love, hold hands, dance hip to hip
					and be
	a dance floor is sanctity 
		latinx night at the club
			49 dead
			49 dead
			49 dead
			49 dead

let’s dance

let’s writhe to the beat of drums and guitar
	let’s feel our heritage dancing in our hips
		movement is safety
		says the rabbit
			says the prey

		movement is safety 
	and i’m going to stand here
		still
	and tell you that love must go on
and tell you that i grieve for my siblings that died that night
	and for Matthew Shepard and Harvey Milk
	and for my friends that were broken for their gay
			broken for identity
			broken for love

let love prevail
	49 dead
	i light this candle for you all
		for Luis
		for Luis
		for Luis
		for Luis

Bang

Bang

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Bang

Bang

I wanted to write their names, but I can’t bring myself to read them. I can’t even double check the death toll. Or add Bangs for the injured. I wanted to write a poem to say how I feel about the Pulse Massacre in Orlando. But the poem that is on my lips, in my fingers, etching itself into my heart is one that requires details. Details. I can’t deal with details and won’t make myself for the sake of art; Right now I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the Big Picture. The fact that this happened. I can’t handle the details right now, and that’s ok. I don’t have to.

This is self-care.

I wanted to find the times. The time started. The length of time. What time of his life led him to hate the

Lesbian

Gay

Bisexual

Transgender

Queer

+

Community. What time of day was it when he planned this massacre. When will we outlaw guns like this? When will we outlaw guns like this? When will we outlaw guns like this? The length of time it takes to create a monster?

I think that I need to be more queer. More loud. More political. I have been busy with my husband and child; living the suburban dream and being ok with it. But this time I’m really going to write letters to my elected officials. (In longhand that they can think of me as a person, not a printer, not a chainmail.) And I’m going to be more vocal about my beliefs. I’m going to challenge others. I’ll do it calmly. The fact that this was specifically perpetrated against the queer community makes me want to go about kissing women in public. In photographs. To reaffirm my solidarity. To normalize. To show that we are indeed here, we are indeed queer, and really, you best get used to it.

When I can safely look at the details I will ingest them and digest them. I will turn details into stardust and record names into art. I will help the future look back and weep for us, with us. I will help explain this in emotion. In heartsong. In the delicate language of a wrist’s pulse I will speak my pieces. I will check and double check the facts that I use. The spelling of names.

I will exude love. Or, at least, I’ll try. Then I will try harder. And, so very importantly, I’ll remember that anger doesn’t nullify love. That sometimes sheer anger is the most useful reaction, because every reaction causes an equal and opposite reaction and the world needs more love.

One day

I will write their names.