Pulse: numb

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I lived in Florida for four years as an undergraduate at the University of Florida, from August 2001 until July 2005. Pulse was barely celebrating its 1 year anniversary when I left Florida; I never went. But, I partied in Orlando’s black gay and lesbian clubs many of times. Finding them in the pre-Facebook era was difficult, a task only for the most dedicated and the most desperate.

Pride month was especially special for us because there were pop-up parties all over any city. It was queer folks' time to celebrate, to dance, connect, and hopefully meet that special someone (or, at least, someone to play with). As a wandering poet and an organizer with the Pride Community Center of North Central Florida and for my own personal gain, I regularly went to Prides in Jacksonville and Tallahassee, and I attended Pride and Black Pride in Orlando at least once.

To say the least, in my college years, I was a club "head" to the fullest. I spent 2-3 nights a week in a club, somewhere — at least, one night a week at University Club in Gainesville, one of the longest standing gay bars in the country (established 1990). I did that on top of working a 25-35 hour a week job at Gap, playing intramural sports with Caribsa (the Caribbean Student Association), and earning a 3.5 GPA overall (3.9 GPA in my major). Needless to say, I was a busy person. Yet, it was the club that kept me sane in the midst of coming out to a fundamentalist church community and transitioning into a less normative gender identity. I do not have a personal connection to Pulse, but my college buddy lost his ex-boyfriend and two other of his friends at the Pulse mass shooting. I am still dumbfounded at what to say to him.

Thanks to Charis and the urgings of a dear friend of mine, I started writing the Monday after the Pulse shootings. I heard of the news my last morning in St. Maarten, the end of a five day celebratory vacation for the end of my postdoctoral appointment at Penn. I cried into my drink, grief washing over me, livid with anger, shock, and disbelief. At the encouraging of some of my close friends, I am going to spend the next couple of blogs sharing some poems with you. Some of them are new, and some of them are old. I just am hoping you can find some comfort there.


numb

 --
originally written as a free-write at Making Space: A Community Writing Group for Activists, Healers, and EveryDay Heroes at Charis Books and More
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 i am numb today
nobody wants to hear
about death
gun shots
bang bang bang
blood
semi-automatics
and ringing phones
especially the ring
tones of the deceased
their families
desperate
to exchange
voices
for voicemails

 i am numb today
reminded of the fear
i faced going to Barcode
my first gay club
was anyone following me?
would anyone know?
i never imagined the exhilaration
that comes with dancing
your fears away
especially the way The Pulse
refuses to slow down
when a woman
finally smiles at you
and draws near

 i am numb today
for the 49 dead
and 53 injured
for the 47 names that
were outted in death
yesterday
and the 2 that remained
nameless

 i am numb today
especially because
i am not one
of those
named

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