Written by Trini Rogando
The author begins with a personal anecdote.
My baby, you always ran so fast and jumped
so high—you’ve gone further than I can follow.
As she speaks of your dreams, rounding her syllables
so closely to the way you did, it’s almost
as if you guided her ethos yourself. But see,
the thing is—you didn’t. You didn’t say goodbye or leave
a note; no way for anyone to sing your sense into prose.
When you threw yourself off of that dusty overpass, the
rest of us were rendered hyenas. Wild and hurting
and desperate for any last scraps of you. Reliving memories
again, again, again. If I squint, perhaps I can find glory
in our hungering persistence. The circular narrative
in wondering why. Outside, the bruised tinging
of a new dawn is choked by the haze of metaphor,
as if your spirit diffused into its bloodshot
light, and we salivate at the view. Later our gazes
eat your casket raw, throats brimming
with silent bile. Bile analogous to words.
Words analogous to love.
Love analogous to rescue, and even the
small brains of yearning jackals
know that rescuers would be worshipped, not regretful.
In actuality it is our prayer slathered over your
limp form, our trembling analyses jabbing at your
overcast soul, guessing at reconciliation.
In your mother’s eulogy she juxtaposes grief with
celebration. How contrary. How parallel
and how structured. She is the author and she is trapped
in a cage of ink and skin, pawing at your obituary,
snarling at your silence until it falls into form. But if
one strips away the rose clouds of imagery and
death, the dawn is simply a dawn and the questions
remain questions and no essayist can really
find meaning in your stillness, though we all keep clawing.
Oh—perhaps this is what remains, regardless
of species or sky: repetition. The daily waking up to a world
of lack. To the absence of answers on your breath.
Maybe one morning we will find sanctuary in this
continuance, and your reasons will fall like stars
from where you leapt to scrape the sun. Until then, we squint,
again, again, again.