Nine New Poems
For Taueret Davis, March 28, 2015
1. My plane touches down at JFK. There’s turbulence.
In the back of an Uber, I scroll Facebook, see Rest in power, powerful femme. I yell no to nobody.
Your friend tells me she left us Saturday night, femme, like she said she would. I say, Take it back. She says, Femme, I wish I could. I think, that was you, making a big noise over Brooklyn, rocking the plane’s wings hard, all your fierce wind and lightning.
You always did what you said you would.
There is really no more you.
2. What would you have me do to celebrate your death?
Eat a big steak and drink good bourbon.
Fuck well. All the decadent, beautiful things you loved. You on the internet a week ago selling all your gorgeous high-end sex toys you got from work: How could no one have noticed?
How could I fuck with them?
How could I not?
What is the right way to memory you?
3. Who can out stubborn you, stubbornest femme cunty hippo bitch warrior?
The answer: no one.
4. I have gone as deep as you, I think. I can’t know. No one could out-cunt stubborn you, including in your determination to die.
5. Are they gonna play “Anaconda” at your funeral? Did you leave a note? How is your mama gonna bury you? Is she why you did it?
6. These deep Black femme waters. All you couldn’t say. All the donated banana pudding at your memorial. All the people crying. Surprised. I wasn’t surprised. You went out with a perfectly executed bang like the best burlesque number you ever did. You in that last Instagram saying, I just want to be a mess. Fall apart. Be loved.
7. It wasn’t just, We should’ve loved you harder.
It was more like, you needed this world to be better, to make you want to stay.