I am, you are, we are super awesome unique mix tapes.
Made from love and preference and social constructs and rhythm.
Held in my body is a world of nuance
that only I will truly ever know.
When I pass, I hope I will be remembered as someone
who worked hard and never stopped
because I want to live as fully as I can.
I hope my brother endearingly jokes about
my quirks for as long as he can.
I hope that my children know that
my heart is theirs forever and always.
I hope to feel my partner’s touch
until the day I pass because we know
each other best and that connection cannot be sullied.
And my parent’s love courses through my blood
as a beautiful dance of José Limón and the Traveling Wilburys.
But there is something I can’t totally leave in lineage,
that ever so specific version of sweet appreciation and
seriousness all at once—
That when I feel it, the corners of my mouth lift slightly
in both mystery and playfulness.
My 1980s mixtape is filled with struggle and
poignancy that dances and rages.
And I will listen to it on repeat until the very fabric begins
to tangle and warp and disintegrate.
The magic of death is that it reminds me of the paradox—
I am here until I’m not.
So, play your music loud.
|