1999 played on my radio the first time I had a girl
in my car past curfew. After a while, every time
When Doves Cry would play, it would stick
On, Maybe I’m just like my father, my father,
my father. In college, I played Kiss while with
a girl I shouldn’t have been, licked
the sweat from her belly, let the salt nourish
the tongue. I was listening to Darling Nikki
on a pair of busted up Beats in a CVS
in Cambridge when I learned he died.
I’m sure the heaven he went to had a stage,
a purple basketball court, a dancing mass of bodies
the color of gunpowder and dusk. For me, heaven is
Let’s Go Crazy playing over my car’s speakers
on a night drive, heart pounding against my ribcage.
Gravel pelting undercarriage. Driver’s window
down. Wind screaming. Tires humming. Racing
back from Lincoln on a Friday night when I told
my parents I was just going down the street. A curve
that never ends. Darkness swallowing my high beams.
A guitar dancing on the high E, notes
racing towards infinity. If
a song keeps skipping, I’ll never hear the final note.
Maybe he was taken so soon because
God likes the way he plays
and I can’t fault him for that. Once,
God birthed a Universe wide enough
to hold everything I’ve ever loved and gave me
the gift of skin the shade of her flesh,
and ain’t that a blessing? Turn a black light
on black bodies and they seem to glow. Ultraviolet.
Purple light so full of energy it burns the skin.