for Candy Royalle & those who loved her, in gratitude
you’re absent from the lineup again
Butch Queen where are those
billowing silk shirts now
mustard / florid / collared
would the trees that you’ve become
make song if so swayed
what would it take?
& who among us here,
knowing what scuttles
under a loved one’s skin, haven’t wished
to distribute some of what’s left of our dawns
take this it is worth more when yours
(too much depends upon
your red boot legs
glazed with glitter)
to have lost is to have failed
in lending the unlendable
but still we weep
tonight young mouths howl
can you hear us
from that concrete place just over the wall?
can you rebuild your knees
strong & wide enough to
bring us over, brew mint tea
you won’t believe what we know to be
cresting this ocean
will you witness how
humbled by this flamingo sky
while there is yet fluid in the
creaking things that carry us
this great gig statics onwards
while we who are left
become each other’s compasses
you foresaw this
Emma Rose Smith is a writer, educator, and arts organiser living on Gadigal-Wangal land. She is interested in accountability, queerness, mental health, and the politics of representation. Her projects include Unspoken Words Storytelling and Word in Hand. She moonlights as a shrinky dink aficionado and identifies as a softie.
