Prayer for the Dead

For Orlando

I pray you don’t die
quiet.                  Haunt.
Shut down all Orlando bathrooms.    
Then North Carolina bathrooms.
Then Congress.
Scrawl on the walls
         This is not your space.
         It’s my grave.
         Stop making my death
         about something other than me.

Make them feel as threatened
as any queer person of color. Make them feel
isolated, unloved. Make them not trust
even the safety of their own desperate hands.
                     Erase them,
not from reality, but from history,
from visions of the future,
from definitions of person and citizen.
Shake chains against the Senate
floor. Mimic the sound of bullet
shells on a dance floor. Bring about a holy hour.
Whisper your last words
Por favor, Dios! No me mates!
         Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo.
         Santificado sea tu nombre.
         Dios te salve, Santa María,
         Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros,
         ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.

Look each of us in the eyes and ask
         What have you done?
         What have you
The prayer I prefer is
Jesus, please grant me the strength
to kill him
before he kills me.