on eulogizing your childhood

i mourn men publicly

seventeen and hand clasped over lips in the back of
your mother’s pontiac down a floridian highway
when heath died
on the birthday of your fifth grade crush

refuse to lament michael with your friend
don’t tell her how thriller terrified you
baby body cowering behind a paisley print couch
until you grew big and learned every move
you walk away from her
because this is one is /personal
this one is /private

cascade of tears every day for at least a week
after the news broke of robin williams because sometimes
a man you never met means more to you than the man who gave you life

bowie and iman
wind-swept and toes clutching sand
90s pinnacle of “love is love, no matter what it looks like”
then the assigned film in your cinema studies class that turned
you to his music


it’s four hours of biting back sobs at the cash register
customers questioning the haunt behind your eyes
the denial
the one who made it okay
to be “too bold” and “never satisfied”
who reminded you that albums
“like books and black lives”
how 21 nights reads like
21 lives
how a musical interlude over color-saturated shakespeare
speaks louder than anything to a lonely ninth grader

this is the death of men
yet for some strange reason
the coffin reeks of my childhood


Published by sacriluna

manic pixie mythic bitch.

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