All the Dead Boys Look Like Me

Last time I saw myself die is when police killed Jessie Hernandez A 17 year old brown queer // who was sleeping in their car Yesterday I saw myself die again // Fifty times I died in Orlando // & I remember reading // Dr. José Esteban Muñoz before he passed I was studying at NYU // where he was teaching // where he wrote shit That made me feel like a queer brown survival was possible // But he didn’t Survive & now // on the dancefloor // in the restroom // on the news // in my chest There are another fifty bodies that look like mine // & are Dead // & I’ve been marching for Black Lives & talking about police brutality Against Native communities too // for years now // but this morning I feel it // I really feel it again // How can we imagine ourselves // We being black native Today // Brown people // How can we imagine ourselves When All the Dead Boys Look Like Us? // Once I asked my nephew where he wanted To go to College // What career he would like // as if The whole world was his for the choosing // Once he answered me without fearing Tombstones or cages or the hands from a father // The hands of my lover Yesterday praised my whole body // Made angels from my lips // Ave Maria Full of Grace // He propped me up like the roof of a cathedral // in NYC Before we opened the news & read // & read about people who think two brown queers Can’t build cathedrals // only cemeteries // & each time we kiss A funeral plot opens // In the bedroom I accept his kiss // & I lose my reflection I’m tired of writing this poem // but I want to say one last word about Yesterday // my father called // I heard him cry for only the second time in my life He sounded like he loved me // it’s something I’m rarely able to hear & I hope // if anything // his sound is what my body remembers first.