You selected lilac
fingernail polish,
a touch of peach
blush, and deep
purple eyeliner
the day before
you were murdered.
I am making this up,
the make-up colors.
For all I know, you
wore makeup so little,
so rarely, no one noticed
but the boys afraid
of how their skin pricked,
their pricks tensed
when you cast
your eyes down
as you passed them
in the halls.
In the news photo
you could be coy,
shy...or maybe
you know something --
your smirk worthy
of Mona Lisa,
but with your full lips
and eyes like saucers
full of sweet, spilt coffee.
Tell them to sing
"Long Time Gone"
at your funeral, Larry.
I know you prefer the trio --
Nothing against Mister Young
I can hear you say -- but
we all need an elegy these days.
When you shot hoops,
I hope your earrings jangled.
caught the sunlight
and spun rays of color
as if from a prism.
I hope a pretty bracelet
warms your wrist.
Even though we are
a nation of little boys
with clenched fists,
you wanted to sing
The Star-Spangled
Banner at your little bro's
baseball games.
Your diabetic mamma
is asking the blank-faced
reporter, Who
will remind me
to take my shots? Who
is going to feed Jasmine?
The name you gave the stray
dog who would only come
for you. Did you prefer
the canary or cream petals?
'Poet's Jasmine' for the perfume?
Or Arabic for the tea?
Why can't I stop
wishing you'd shot first?
During the days
your gone mind hummed
in your living body --
its gifts waiting to be 'harvested'
(the heart, a tiny gourd,
the kidney, summer beans?) --
I would, if I could,
give your purgatory
this one memory:
losing yourself
in the black glisten
of anise licorice sticks
hooked and dangling
(Snagging crawdads!
For real!) -- and conjuring
a boy, his eyes wet, black,
his skin scented with jasmine,
his voice whispering,
I wish I had your smile.
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16 comments:
"sexual orientation" and "gender expression"...the second term is not a familar one in the UK. I have tried to get the context of this so as I read the poem correctly...It's a poignant elegy, biting in the first three stanzas, but showing empathy. (I'm not sure that I understand the conclusion "oil-black"). The poem gains so much emotion by being so subtly controlled. The world moves on and its prejudices roll with it. Alas.
Wow. Intense. Moving. Poignant.
Esh... Actually "gender expression" isn't something I've heard either. Thanks so much for your thoughtful response. ("Oil-black" bothers me, too, and it probably won't stay. Still working out the kinks.) The reports in the news about Larry really affected me, as I suppose you can tell. Again, thanks.
Peter, I am glad the poem moved you. Thanks for the comment!
C, this poem is great. I missed it in my blogfeed of your blog, but saw your link to it on Towleroad.
Oh and gender expression relates to how persons - usually of LGBTQ orientation - choose to express their preferred or innate gender-classified identities. Young Larry was beginning to 'gender express' with "feminine" accents such as jewelry, etc. The notion of gender expression speaks both to an existential fluidity of gender and to the category definitions that mark such 'expression' as having to be gender specific or assigned.
I think that makes sense?
Peter pointed me toward this poem. Incredibly moving, C. Kate Evans is trying to mobilize bloggers to keep this story in the news. This is a beautiful tribute.
Really moving. Thanks for this.
Profound and poignant, the poem evokes Larry for one who has only seen his picture. "Oil black" his hair?
Some of us can hide, many of us can't, our labels are on our faces.
When hiding is not an option, we live just as Larry lived...and sometimes we die, just as Larry and Matthew died...hopefully not in vain.
thanks all! Anonymous -- thanks. I agree. Here's to the hope that one day we won't have to hide and won't have to fear the fact that we cannot.
Hi there, I found you through Poet With A Day Job's Blog Roll--I went to "Land Mammal" 's Blog, and saw her mention of your poem....
It meant so much to read your elegy for Lawrence King, here.
Thank you for putting a remembrance out there that is as much about his(imagined, and real) LIFE, as well as his tragic death.
Too Gay
—for Larry King
Tell me, little brother—
My little Oxnard Angel boy…
Where are you now little Larry—
My little gone chicken queen bee?
Your big sad brown eyes—
Who’s looking out thru them now…
Those beautiful long delicate
Eyelashes and brown eyes?
Your heart that refused—
To stop beating even tho
Your brains were sprayed
All over the laptop screen?
Embrace those new bodies—
Take care of them and give
Them the life that was taken
Away from you that day…
When they dream, baby—
You’ll be there too and don’t
Be afraid because they’ll be
Family & they’ll love you too…
(The kid's organs were transplanted
and now give Life to others...............)
Christopher, this is gorgeous and heartbreaking. Thank you so much for sharing it.
Thanks, Blogger 30 and all you great comment-folks!
A really moving poem.
In meinem Magen.
OMG quit it. Larry was not valued by his family but they are going to profit from it. ARGH They are pathetic but he was not. He was a beautiful child that was nurtured by Casa Pacifica and E.O. Green. All the finger pointers can go to Hell. We know we did the right thing and as Larry would say "I am who I am" Stop blaming, stop giving to the family, who hated and start giving to Casa Pacifica and E.O Green, who realy LOVED him. Uncle Phil, do you want to challenge me????
Dear Anonymous,
I'm sorry the poem upset you. It's certainly not meant to blame, nor is it meant to 'give' to anyone but Larry.
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