She was 94 and a bitch—let’s not make this sad. Still, she was your mother. Two hours from Pittsburgh, I lick a $1 Sheetz ice cream cone, improbably delicious amidst an improbably stunning turnpike sunset, when you call with the new fucked up thing: your MAGA brother has Covid—and still, he’s going to the service tomorrow. You are nearly 73. You won’t see doctors. You won’t stop smoking. Imagine the headline: Daughter Dies After Attending Mother’s Funeral. Please, don’t die. But if I died—well. Mama, lately I don’t feel like a good person. You once told me you’d kill yourself if I died because there’d be nothing else to live for. This movie is no masterpiece. You and I aren’t great with feelings. The dim lights, Billie Eilish’s breathy ballad—Barbie cries, and so do I. Years ago, wedged in a theater between you and Dad, I wept watching Natalie Portman as Jackie O, black-veiled, mourning her husband. I had just come out as bi. All you could muster: It’s not easy being green. Since then I have shot Dad dead, and so have you, though not as much as I’d hoped. The credits roll. I learn your mother wouldn’t buy you a Barbie. You once were a girl who looked like MargotRobbieBarbie. Your mother hit you with a wooden spoon. A welt pooled at her hand from how hard she struck. She blamed it on you, her doll. She dragged you to a toddler’s funeral. An open casket. The girl, Peachy, named for her fleshy cheeks. Peachy, drowned girl in a lake. You wept over her lifeless body, a child yourself. Your mother pinched your arm—hard. We don’t do that here. Mama, you never hit me. Leaving the theater, I remind you: I, too, couldn’t have Barbies. I drive us home, the man that I am. You vow to buy both of us Barbies. Then we can play with our Barbies, together. That could be fun. Yes. The two of us living, both of us girls.
DANTE FUOCO is a queer artist and educator. He is the writer and performer of two solo shows, Transplant and SEAL. Her poetry has appeared in DIAGRAM, Poets.org, Exposition Review, and elsewhere. Since graduating from Swarthmore College in 2012, Dante has worked in and around education as an elementary special ed teacher, a restorative justice facilitator for young people and adults, a therapeutic crisis intervention trainer, a non-profit program manager, and as a swim coach for an LGBTQIA+ adult swim team. Dante holds an MFA in creative writing from Virginia Tech. Their work can be found on their website and they can be found on Instagram at @garlic_lover_b0y
