Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

I think my group chats are the best group chats. We hit each other up every day, give verbal daps, check-in on family, share progress videos of workouts. We pass on new drafts of poems with no pressure to give feedback (but, of course, we do). Or we simply say, “Good morning.” When birthdays roll around, we make sure each feels the love. On our phones, we are royalty.

I’m in several group chats, one a decade old. I prize them all: health tips are exchanged; get-togethers are organized; book parties are planned. When I contemplate going silent, of letting go of this piece of technology in my hand, I think of missing the shared memes that have us cracking up. On our phones, we set off laugh bombs.

Of course, our flurries of texts do not substitute for IRL moments. In the past, yes, I railed against the world being too much with us. However, it boggles the mind, this level of rapid support and ongoing community of family and friends. On our phones, we are each other’s EMT.

Today’s poem possesses that quality of floating with our crew in the spaces between, that magic of turning up each other’s light. It’s a poem featured in Invisible Strings, the anthology that celebrates Taylor Swift’s lyrics. Hey Swifties, can you tell which song inspired the author’s poem?

When You Rise from the Dead, I Drive You to the After Party
by Melissa Studdard

For my favorite Swiftie, Carolyn

If someone tossed us the sun, we’d catch it in our halos without
                getting burned. We’re cleaning up 

                                              this constellation of fractured
anthems and interstellar dust, threading the debris we collect

into daisy garlands for stars and starfish and starlings. People
                                              say we’re good, but it’s more like

                                 we’re fabulous, like crushed platinum
                and amethyst planet-shaped paperweights

resting on poems scribbled by moth wings. We slide
                                              from one side of infinity to the other

                                 without messing up our hair. That’s how
               lovely we are. Like two

comets combing our own tails. We toss
               bears to beehives without harming them, catch

falling snow without melting it. We’re chill like
               a bloom of moon jellyfish bluing the wash and drift

                                              of warm, orbital waters. See this chillwave
                                                              ambience we’re weaving

through the zodiac? We throw a stitch, and it loops back
               around the celestial drama of this earth-sky

                               diorama. When we have bad days, we crack
them open to discover hope winking at us in the center. We float

over mud puddles, while people who wronged us
                step into them. We can even catch meteors in our teeth

                               without breaking their streaks. That’s how
good we’ve been. That’s why we’re on the top stair

of this universe, blowing kisses
                to asteroids and astronauts. At least that’s 

                               what horoscopes predict the media will say
at the party I’m throwing in your honor.

                                                               They’ll say that we know when
                               to blink and when to wink, when to take

the stage and when to step aside and let the cosmos 
                                                                do its work. So, we hang out

                in the audience, sharing our blessings. You say,
May you always find the songs you need to explain your own emotions.

                I say, May you go shopping for cleaning supplies
                but come home with poems.

“When You Rise From the Dead I Drive You to the After Party” by Melissa Studdard. Used by permission of the poet.