Christopher Soto

Dear Mother // I apologize for these instructions regarding my belated death // but police keep pestering parents on where to shake their child’s ashes // fuck that // Dance & laugh my ashes into the volcanoes [volcanoes look like Earth’s pimples // about to burst] Dear Mother // I hope neither of us dies but rather // we drift into alzheimers together like Abuela years ago // We can walk out of the house in our bathrobes // waving at police cars & thinking they’re taxis taking fathers home // Dear Mother I haven’t told you but bombs in Chelsea were so close to me last fall // I fell& prayed to Holy Nuns of the Erectile Dysfunction Committee but still // I’ll never understand why // God made something so beautiful as the sun // on the ridge // to be blinding Dear Mother // I’ve been much too slow to say thank you The word twisted on my tongue // I stutter to say th-thanks!! & maybe it’s my accent // unable to pronounce refrigrator En español //refrigerador// As if our language was a child who wet the bed from being tickled too much // & if we only speak one language // can we name her Joy // Dear Mother I’ve read the credit report // & America fiscally sponsored the Civil War in El Salvador // where men had genitals cut off stuffed into their mouths // their heads decapitated & placed between their legs // Tio saw all his friends // students slumped on chain link fences // after marching outside the university As a child // I never thought how difficult it must’ve been to pick the heads of daisies with me // by the swimming pool Each petal pulled // I’d recite //he loves me//he loves me not God must // in the most bloated nights // the fullest nights God must’ve known // you’d follow me outside “heaven’s gates” What an oxymoron // There must be a heaven that’s boundless & unbridled // where we can seek asylum // Dear Mother // please teach me how to hold the sorrow // without losing my arms

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.