Annee
and Jini
and Lynnette
and Jane
each of you raised me
in your own way
and i still ache for you
every
single
day
Annee
and Jini
and Lynnette
and Jane
each of you raised me
in your own way
and i still ache for you
every
single
day
we already voted
but if you haven’t,
please do
for those too busy working multiple jobs
to put food on the table
for babies they never wanted
but were forced to have
for the trans children living double lives
in states that would rather have them die
than live their full, honest truth
around parents who may, eventually come around
but they don’t yet have that proof
for artists
and freaks
and everything that makes this country
what it is
which may not be great
[but it never was in the first place — we’ve had growing pains
for hundreds of years,
but each pang
is a way
towards equality
and equity
and not going back
please, don’t try to go back,
the future is where it’s at]
we already voted
and for one moment
i felt a slight relief from this anxiety
that has plagued me
for over a year now
so please,
vote for my Grandmama, who died from covid in 2023
[you know, after covid was “over”],
and vote for Palestinians
and the Sudanese
and the immigrants who listened to our statue of liberty
only to be met with hatred and libel,
please
exercise your right
while you still
have it.
wearing my Grandmama’s jean jacket shirt,
the one that was probably too big for her, too,
with a stain on the pocket that she hid with some cool embroidery —
a design around the initial she went by
[her full name was “Mary Jane” but she went by “Jane”
for as long as any of us can remember]
and because i’ve started going by my initials,
i knew i could easily add a little “H” on one side
and a little “F” on the other of this giant “J”
and it would look intentional, like the rest of the design,
and i could claim this as my own —
and wear it not as a hand-me-down
from the Grandmama where i got my middle name, but as a
continuation of the lineage
of Jane
and J
and the art of embroidery
and family
and everything…
as the numbers steadily approach
24
the day in december i used to see your face
every year
[along with others
along with others]
my heart hiccups
as i think about seeing you
and remembering i can’t,
not in its living form anymore
it’s a lost loss
one from far away
but so closely held in both of our hearts
you wrote so many letters
to so many people
but you always managed to write to me
and make me feel like i was the only one
i love you i loved you i love you
[this poem has no end
because grief
goes on and on]
i am living in dreams
this morning:
asking my Grandmama all the questions i thought of
at her memorial;
snuggling with my Mom, refusing to question why
her dying would be a test
that i passed
after six months of her gone;
exploring a Gaza un-riddled with holes;
and persuading governments
Not
to fund a genocide.
these are my
wildest imaginings in sleep.
i have so many questions i want to ask my Grandmama
and no opportunity to ask them anymore
(i desire stories/
multitudes of stories/
i’d take them from strangers,
but i really want them from
the folks i grew up with and
i’ll devour them whole)
i just wanted to say
how much i love my whole
family
true, they aren’t perfect
(but no one is)
and there is so much love
and listening
and care
here
Grandmama gave us that
Grandmama started it
and we continue it
onwards
i keep expecting
creativity
and inspiration
and catharsis
and exhalation
and something big
out of this tragedy
but i seem to just be
sad
so many days
and yet, things are still the same
so much/
so whirlwind/
and yet, things are still the same
we’ll continue on with our daily tasks —
the chores that need to be done/
the bagels we eat every morning/
the minutes will continue to tick past/
and we’ll get back into patterns and routines and the mundane/
but things will never be the same
trying to remember
what happened in four days
that all blur together
but also seem dissonant
like opposite ends of the piano
keys plunking notes
irreverently
like the states we drove through
were whole countries
while we tried
to grapple
mentally
and physically
like
night
and day time
aren’t parts of one whole cycle —
the world is filled with dusks and dawns
and rain sometimes falls where there’s sunshine
and rainbows can welcome
you
home