it’s never the house fires,
or the nightly violence,
or even the birthdays
that went without wishes granted.
It’s Grease 2 —
that grainy VHS we had by accident,
the one that started to stutter halfway through
“Reproduction,”
as if the tape itself were embarrassed
by joy.
I think about Dennis Stewart,
an actor on the edge of the frame,
the villain, sure,
but in that way villains often are
It’s Grease 2 —
that grainy VHS we had by accident,
the one that started to stutter halfway through
“Reproduction,”
as if the tape itself were embarrassed
by joy.
I think about Dennis Stewart,
an actor on the edge of the frame,
the villain, sure,
but in that way villains often are
the ones who understand
that time is running out,
that nothing gold stays,
that all cheesy choreography ends
in stillness.
I didn’t know his name then.
He was just “Craterface,”
A man born to play a ghost
in a movie about pretending youth lasts forever.
There’s something holy
about remembering the wrong people.
About saying:
I remember you,
Dennis Stewart,
for the cigarette flick,
the menace of a man
who maybe knew art was just life
with a better jacket,
that time is running out,
that nothing gold stays,
that all cheesy choreography ends
in stillness.
I didn’t know his name then.
He was just “Craterface,”
A man born to play a ghost
in a movie about pretending youth lasts forever.
There’s something holy
about remembering the wrong people.
About saying:
I remember you,
Dennis Stewart,
for the cigarette flick,
the menace of a man
who maybe knew art was just life
with a better jacket,
so take the role,
take the paycheck.
Sometimes I worry memory
is just the universe
recycling its favorite mistakes —
that I’ve been rewinding this same scene
for decades:
a pink jacket,
a parking lot,
a man who never quite got
his close-up.
So this is the bouquet:
watching Grease 2 with my daughter
Sometimes I worry memory
is just the universe
recycling its favorite mistakes —
that I’ve been rewinding this same scene
for decades:
a pink jacket,
a parking lot,
a man who never quite got
his close-up.
So this is the bouquet:
watching Grease 2 with my daughter
on my 43rd birthday,
and singing all the songs by heart,
wondering about dreams coming true
or dying, because to remember
is to keep them alive.