Abuelo,

I couldn’t be who I am

today if it wasn’t for you

being dead. It was time

for glitter, nail polish, and locs.

Glitter in my nail polish.

Glitter in my locs.

You wouldn’t have

loved me loving myself;

my joy rendered

inconvenience.

Sucked teeth keeping me

your grandson.

My love for the men

in our family

is complicated but

still love. Still me

accepting

who they are,

how they may not

accept me. Abuelo,

show them the infinite

possibilities tenderness allows.

How the men

in our family

love women,

I would love to be

loved by me

and I would

be afraid

to be loved by me.

I’d say enough

to keep but never

do enough to stay.

Afraid to die alone

like Pops did.

Others’ love for me

has been what’s left

after forgiveness.

I could’ve loved

them better if

I loved myself

more. There’s nothing

I could hide from you,

Abuelo. You are no longer

of your prejudices and

while I can still

hold you accountable

I’d rather be held

by your body of stars.

Your new understanding

of life without

the exhaustion

of matter. Abuelo,

Mommy says

I look like you, but

I want to look like a man

who learned to forgive

himself. Orchids

blooming

up my throat.

No man wants

to sound like

who’s abandoned them.

What song made us

ask the wrong questions?

What joke made us

laugh closing doors

on our true selves?

Who would relive

the moments

that shaped them

into what

they couldn’t love?

All my glitter and tenderness

makes me the only mother

I won’t get a chance to mourn.

I carry my bright child face and

tell myself:  you will become me,

trust, sweet boy, everyone dies on time.