From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

to Stacey, as you were
you pout, golden and annoyed.
you glow all funny, in the way something can be an
unexpected beautiful,
like when someone leaves out a can of orange pop
and slowl

to Stacey, as you were
you pout, golden and annoyed.
you glow all funny, in the way something can be an
unexpected beautiful,
like when someone leaves out a can of orange pop
and slowly, slowly emerges a wasp, soothing itself on sugar
reclining on aluminum in the sun as its legs dry.
we're all caught up in this now and I don't know if you're the wasp,
or the can, or the sugar, or the sun
but I know how anxious you look against the leather. 

it’s black leather, in a black car, and you’re a black girl
running because no jet will wait for you,
your heels clicking and your hair dancing
like black-girl hair doesn’t dance,
swish on your shoulder blades.  we can’t hear it for real but
swish your dress, switch your hips.
but the tear, when it comes, is silent. 

this is how I will remember you, Stacey Lauretta of the Bronx,
Stacey the first woman my brother ever publicly proclaimed love for,
Stacey fabulous hats, Stacey braids, best of the black best friends. 

Stacey, best friend that talks about you at the lunch table
or on television.
Stacey, best friend that leaves
but can still come back.