a poem i wrote about processing death in families, particularly as a queer person from a christian family. this poem addresses the tensions, regrets, abandonment, resentment, and also the love i've felt for my own given family, and for the families of my dearest friends.
--
i throw you in the river
body in a wet bag
body in a wet rug
body in a cold can—
in an old suit
body in an upturned hat
body in an open palm
body of christ in a square
of stale bread
i throw flowers on the ground
they call it a grave
i call it grass
i call it child’s play
i call it two hands
digging in the mud
i call it hidden treasures
opossum bones and black rocks
hypodermic needles
pull tabs
i call it pushing daisies
i call it turning up the tulips
i call it tearing up the yard
i call it burning the house down
what do i want?
i want the world to stop
i want to unsmoke cigarettes
i want your boot between my front teeth
i want to roll up the carpets
i want to paint the walls
i want to change the way we look at ourselves
i want to change the way you see the world
i want to change you
i want to put my cheek against every mirror
i want to kiss the ghost of my face
the shape of it, the fog, a fragment of before
a piece of ten minutes ago
a piece of ten years ago
a piece of my mother in her Sunday best
a piece of my father with his fists unfurled
a piece of cake
i want to hold your hand across the aisle
i want to kiss you in church
i want to hold you so close that you can feel
my heartbeat through my neck
the rabbit fast drum of my shame
against the slow thud of your rejection
my fear so thick you could
butter bread with it
i want you to love me without conditions
i want you to believe in a different god
a benevolent god who thinks that
the women i love are strong
that their hair is made of silk
that their hearts are made of bees
i want him to look at the women i love
and see flowers blooming out
from between their ribs
the ones he laid so close together
the ones he made of an after thought
the ones he bound together so tight
that they could hardly breathe
unless they were alone
or alone together
i want you to lock the back door
i want to eat at a different restaurant
i want the sky to be the end of the universe
i want the ocean to be the infinity beyond
i want to look at clouds and see clouds
no more monsters, no more white faces
no more names on the horizon
no more saints or holy palmers kisses
i want my mother’s hands to feel like goodnight
i want my lovers hands to feel like good morning
anything other than good riddance
i want to lay on the ground
and feel you on the other side
i want to jump in after
i want to sink to the bottom
with whats left of you—
a body in a cold can
a body in a wet rug
a body in a wet bag
dust in the ocean
