Who am I to memorialize

Photo: Kaitlin DeWilde
someone else’s sister or friend?
I have nothing to say except
I am sure they were all fighters.
How else do we keep on
putting one foot in front of the other in front of the other?
Also I am sure they were sad sometimes
overcome with the joy
of feeling finally laced together.
How do I remember lives or names
I have never run my palm across,
never spoken before now?
*
Yasmin Noelia Taysia, her lover
Kátia
Alexa Cynthia Marcela
Aline Valeria Vicki
Caprice Jessica Vimlesh
Rovilson Kanan Minja Albor
Guillén Dayana Miriam
Cita Camila
Katherine Noor Enrique
Will Andrea Rusbel Aiton
Cristy Puttalakshmi’s
Camila Cris Maradiaga
Carol Vicky
Pequeña Miriam Archie Guimarães
Fernanda Teixeira Lam
Kirsi Sabrina Avila Violeta
Ebru La Luli Adriana
Eda Sasha Monserrat
Smail Gisela
Melek Roberta Jimmy
Carneiro Kenia Wanda
Carolina Jeva Bianca Ávalos
Tyli’a Ramon Juliana
Kamilla Kimberly La George
Fernanda Rômulo
Jenifir Diksy Tamires
Kristina Tigresa Ketlin Sánchez
Sayda Xiomaran
Cagla Foxy Bibi
Dara Papucha Kelly Tanya
Jorge Catherine
Carla Rafael Anita Paulina
Luana Kamilla Meena
Hadise Kristina Samara
Destiny Marinho Christopher
Terri Cesar Linsia Eric
More unnamed, unidentified, unknown.
More uncounted, or discounted
for lack of blood
*
I am afraid
they are
no one else’s.
Especially those without pictures, or even names.
And those whose bodies look like mine, unrecognizable.
according to who?
Is that what community means,
points of overlap or loss?
The reason, every year, we come together
to mourn a list of names
(imperfect memorial but)
who else will? Maybe a mother. but what about all those kids,
found dead in their bedrooms,
on the street?
Too many questions. Too much bluntness and ink.
I wonder who else charts their dead.
*
Somebody is always dying,
why can’t we remember without knowing
nameandageanddateandweapon?
penis and/or gun or knife? brick?
She was always one of us,
strange how impossible that feels
without violence. I am sure
there is something else we share.
Perhaps we are both tired
of writing these poems
or trying to be political
instead of sad.
mark, remind, mourn, recover
mark, remind, mourn, recover
remind
*
What happens when I am left alone here
with a wall of lives, too many
for my container heart
that is already
threatening
to spill?