(who braved the brunt
for the both of us)
(who, stilted or stunted,
is still alive at twenty-five)
(who came out cord-caught
& kicking, miracle boy,
who came out singing Sinatra,
came out singing
Came Out Swinging,
who came out
tender as a bruise,
who bruises so easily,
like seriously, my tender-blooded
Von Willebrand brother,
King of the Block-
buster summer)
(who, in second grade, was shamed
for having nails painted flame—
who instead of going home,
& bathing in acetone,
inspired boys to do the same,
to steal their mother’s polish
& paint, a protest in each shade
of pink, gold, green, blue)
(you, who protected me
from the torment of elementary,
who found me sobbing by the swing sets
& said, half-threat,
you’d hit the heels of
my bully with the sharp edge
of your Razor scooter, you,
who taught me tough skin,
never tormented again,
you, who still holds my hiccups with
the softest snarl, you)
(big brother, who cries beside me
at the Tigers Jaw concert, whole
decade later, whose life
was saved by songs
shouted in the shower,
shouted shrouded
in sweat, shouted silent
in the tourmaline night,
big brother, who gave me lyrics
like heirlooms for when the hurt hums
like heartbeats, like blue prints
of an architectured ocean
you tread & survived
—so do it,
I dare you,
I triple dog dare
you, swim up straight
& admit that you’re special.
Mila Cuda is the former Youth Poet Laureate of the West Coast. Her work has been featured on Button Poetry, Teen Vogue, Rookie, and PBS. She is the lead poetry editor of the feature film Summertime (dir. Carlos Lopez Estrada), which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. Mila is a caffeine-sensitive lesbian from Los Angeles with a sheer enthusiasm for spiders.