Aidan Aragon

If I Wasn’t Terrified of the Spiritual Consequences, I’d Try to Contact Amy Winehouse with a Ouija Board, or Ways to Celebrate My 21st Birthday

Let me spend the whole night singing, vodka a la Squirt and a friend in hand, let me ask the moon, let me, standing on the roof of my house, scream at the sky, what is love and how will I know before it’s too late, what is love and how will I know before it’s too late, what will the neighbors say, it’s so late, the clouds cirrus fingers cupping the sky like a glass of wine above I’m swimming in all they let trickle through, slurring in all the light trickle through my teeth like ghosts chatter in my mouth, let me get self-professed, profound, full of original thoughts, how much ocean water could I drink without forgetting my name, how much ocean water would I drink before the moon pulled me from shore, how much would falling from here to the sidewalk hurt - what if we all quit school and used all our money to buy some kind of queer artist commune and forgot straight people existed in the moment between exist and its past tense let me live a thousand or at least one or two possibilities for where this conversation goes, what is existing and how do we know, why can’t we be stars, how are we sure that we aren’t  a sub-species of star, do you think I have cousins right there through the clouds shining bright, don’t think of light as a death knell, don’t think of light as a death knell, don’t think– let’s go back in, I need another drink, cheap tequila a treasured birthday gift, with orange juice, no grenadine no sunrise, let’s walk to the lake, let me rest my head on Jane’s shoulder and she on Lynn’s and she on Siena’s and she on Maylea’s and she on Cole’s and he on Ian’s until from afar and in the dark we look like one many legged creature shambling along the edge of the water, hoot at the cute boys who I’m pretty sure are cute boys on the sidewalk, let me poem this moment because I don’t remember walking home, let me remember sitting on the rug ugly grey shag like a sad song against my skin growing warmer and warmer until I wake up, alone—

when I found out Amy died
I cried for an entire day,
I never knew I’d live so long.

Under The Super Flower Blood Moon

On May 15th of 2022, the longest total lunar eclipse since 1989 was a red dot in the sky. Spring warmed itself in the slim light. We sat on the edge of Lake Monona. Couples kissed. Strangers staggered the walk. I crushed a can of hard lemonade underfoot and threw it away in the neighbor’s bin. None of our phones produced a clear image.

I don’t tell my friends I love them. It’s weird & I cried recently while writing a letter to my mom because this life is something I never imagined & the lighter edge of the moon looks like the smear of my lipstick on Siena’s shoulder & when Jane laughs, when they chortle, it’s like tiger lilies bursting & still I wonder if I will ever be loved & when the light glints off Maylea’s glasses, I take two breaths at once—

There is a crushed can in the minifridge of my chest leaking all over the place.
I don’t want to wonder how I could deserve this loveliness.