Ceremonias De La Superviviencia
at the movies my eye on the Exit sign
on the aisles the doorways the space
between the seat in front of me and my legs
how far could I crawl
before I die?
wednesday after it happened
I went to a work event at a gay bar I stood
near the exit when I could when I couldn’t
I stood near a window I made sure I could
open and fit through made sure I could
jump out and land on the roof
of the building next door
just in case
after the event
my coworker was leaving
thought about hugging him but I don’t
I waived asked myself
is this the last time I’m going to see him?
two weeks after the massacre
my partner is getting ready to attend Pride
I am staying home
I watch him pick out his outfit I sit
quietly on the couch when he is dressed
he holds me I hold him a little longer
ask myself
is this the last time I’m going to see him?
he leaves I feel as if I should go with him
just in case
has I love you always meant
I would die holding you
for people like us?
has I love you
always tasted like two boys
scared to form the word amor
with their lips terrified to say things
like belleza te quiero
libertad
would you die
holding me?
when it happens if it happens
do we run towards the fucker together?
do we die in each other’s arms?
I will be your shield
will you be mine?
I’ve never used my body as a shield
is this what true love is? is this what queer love is?
if our genes our DNA
truly hold onto memory
then we remember our ancestor’s gay love
remember our ancestor’s queer communion
the ceremony of maricones before us
their trauma their struggle
and if that is in us then so is their survival!
to all the fuckers out there ready to shoot us down
we will survive you we have survived fires
we have survived camps
we have survived plagues and
we will survive you
I’m sitting at work everyone
has moved on to the next tragedy
Nice Quetta Baghdad Istanbul
my eyes focus on the exit sign
then the door the front lobby
then back to the exit sign
the door
the space between my cubicle
and the door
the exit sign
the door.
by Baruch Porras-Hernandez
from Split this Rock