#88


at Stanley's memorial, I did not give a speech, because I could not stop crying. My brain could not understand how I was suppose to believe his body was now ashes inside an urn on a table in front of me. Nothing about that made any sense. I am not sure I even believed it happened still at that point. Writing some words down later and making a shrine of connections to this episode of The Muppet Show helped me (as backwards as it may seem) attempt to face reason, which Stanley was a stan of.



Stanley has come back to me in strange ways, two of which are mentioned in the poem. I never had as Ghost moment before, but once while Adventure Time was on the screen and I was listening to Future Islands out of a boom box I received as a Christmas gift from a Dominican student of mine, as the road through 117th street was under construction, I felt his presence. Also, right after I found out he had taken his life, I received several phone calls from an unidentified number from Orlando, and time I answered it, an Indian woman answered. Stanley was very interested in Hinduism. I recall one time, I just finished writing a pantoum, muppoe #118, when he buzzed my apartment to come up after celebrating Holi, the Hindu Festival of Colors.

My first boyfriend was from Cape Verde and was born in '76, the year The Muppet Show premiered and also the year of the dragon. When I reunited with Stanley at Horse Meat Disco, he had the Mortal Kombat dragon on his shirt. He too was born in the year of the dragon, '88.


Dream Pop Press accepted my book, BLUE 4 U, for publication on November 7, 2021. It was not done on purpose, I was assured by Isobel. The day the book went up for pre-sale, I was back in Lisbon. Everywhere I looked that day, besides the Burger King Queen Cheese Chicken Sandwich ad, was a poster for a production of Orlando to play at Dona Maria National Theatre. Unfortunately I had to miss it to be back in NYC, writing this now.


Just as other numbers appear to me randomly, yet frequently, so too does 11/7.  For instance, the other night, I was woken up by a car alarm. I grabbed my phone, and saw the time was 1:17. I said to myself hey baby, and then as I was about to go back to sleep, someone buzzed my apartment. It has been a long time since anyone has done that, nevermind so late at night, so I ignored it, feeling a bit alarmed.

“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

I had liked the Gigamesh remix better at the time.
He said RY X was superior as it was closer to the song.
He was correct of course.
Once, in a cab ride home, Stanley shared with me how he used to think about being a poet. He said he won an award for an ekphrastic piece he wrote when he was younger. He chuckled to him self saying it had all the old white women in tears. After he passed, I was set on trying to uncover that poem, and thanks to the thoughtful people at the Frick, I was able to be touched by it, as I imagine you will be too.