In memory of Christopher Andrew “Drew” Leinonen, 32, murdered with his boyfriend, Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22, in the shooting at Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, June 12, 2016. It was Latin night at Pulse & many of the 49 victims, like Guerrero, were Latinx. Leinonen, one of the last to be identified, was Asian American. This poem addresses Leinonen as Drew because that was the name he chose for himself.
Dear Drew,
It’s one year later. I search your name again
& find a new picture of your mother.
Holding up the bright shirt
you died in. Looking at the holes, those nine
shots. Waiting for one more gleam of you
to push through. Drew,
I didn’t know you, but keep reading,
rereading about you. You
who shepherded friends & dates
& maybe-I’m-not-100%-straight’s
to their first gay club. You who danced, who
shenaniganed. You who all caps shouted GAY
like YES whenever someone tried
to lower case snicker, are you…?
You who worked as a counselor, who called
your red pick-up truck The Flamer, who donned
a floppy Santa hat for the gayest
holiday picture with your boyfriend & mother, you
who were dancing with your boyfriend, Juan,
then not, you who I keep reading
about until I keep
seeing my face,
my brothers’ faces
in yours, you who gleamed.
Drew, sometimes I dream you
into earlier that night, to the place
you shared with Juan.
You’re getting ready
while he eats a snack in the kitchen.
You’re trying on a blue shirt, thinking maybe
not. Then Juan comes in
to tease you for taking so long.
His hand on your shoulder. Your hand,
his beardy cheek. Then Juan saying yes,
this shirt. Before the two of you
step out.
Drew, each time I dream it, I slow it down
a little more. You try on
five shirts. Each
with different shoes.
& Juan eats a very large bowl
of Frosted Flakes.
Then another touch,
another touch
of his cheek.
But Drew, I don’t know
if you showed your tenderness
this way. & sometimes, there’s another part
of me, a not-small part that returns
to your mother, instead of you.
The way she holds your shirt
with the largest missing.
Because I wonder, would my mother
do that for me?
My mother who once said she wishes she never
had me. My mother who still can’t say
your boyfriend. But knowing
my mother, I can say she would hold
it, even on the news, for everyone to see,
because a not-small part of her
would rather miss me
than listen to me,
listen to me say again, I love him.
Drew, what did you say
to the unlistening? To the heart that prefers
a shineless shirt?
All I know, Drew,
is that I’ve searched, but no word
could be radiant
enough to grieve you.
You who could’ve been
a friend, you who
must’ve been my brother.
//
Note: This poem relies on the following sources — a tribute to Leinonen by his friend Catherine McCarthy, published in The Washington Post on June 18, 2016; an article by Melissa Chan published in Time Magazine on June 13, 2016; & articles in The Orlando Sentinel marking the one year anniversary of the shooting. In response to the attack, a group of Leinonen’s friends, along with his mother Christine, created an LGBTQ+ advocacy organization, The Dru Project. You can learn more about their mission & programs at thedruproject.org.