Pride Poetry Spotlight: In Memory of the Pulse Night Club Shooting
by Cole Goodwin and Judy Bankman
Welcome to Local Poetry Spotlight, a poetry column dedicated to showcasing the poetry of local writers. At CCCNews we believe in the power of art and creative writing to heal, connect, and build community.
Meet the Poet: Cole Goodwin
Pictured: Cole Goodwin hiking in the Buck Creek Wilderness in Southern Washington.
Cole Goodwin is a nonbinary journalist, business owner, artist, poet, green thumb, community advocate, and outdoor adventurer. Born in Umatilla County, they spent most of their youth in The Dalles, OR running laps around Sorosis Park and swimming at the pocket park. They now live in White Salmon, WA with their partner and their two dogs Sammy and Lily.
What inspired you to write about the shooting at the Pulse Night Club?
”When I heard the news about the Pulse Night Club shooting on June 12th, 2016 I was devastated. My half brother, who is also gay used to live near Orlando,” said Goodwin “I was grateful that his name was not on the list of 49 victims who were killed. But when I told other’s about it however all I got were shrugs. So, I largely had to grieve alone, and this slam poem is a result of that experience.”
In Memory of Fifty Ghosts
by Cole Goodwin
When I heard about
the gunshots and
fifty people dead
I phoned a friend-
I said stay safe, I love you,
tried to go back to bed.
When I tell my family
they don’t understand-
its sad yeah, sure but
that’s the south-
they can’t imagine
that it could be them
that it could be me or you
that it could be so close to home.
They don’t understand
that death is a moth
hovering over the shoulder of
every softly shining queer,
queen, king, and in between
that braves the night
and not a single word
can seem to make them understand
the simple danger of
holding someone’s hand-
and can’t you see I’m scared?
How can you not see the wound
in the heart of America
that has been left untended?
For how long now?
How many years have we
fought to be treated with humanity
only to have it blow up in our backyards
how many scars
have been left on how many souls
and what is the toll
you can’t make me believe
we haven’t already paid in full.
For fucks sake stop killing us! Please.
When I heard the news again-
I was meeting her parents-
the ones that don’t know about ‘us’
so they don’t know that it could have
been us- it could still be us.
We can’t afford to do nothing
when there is so much suffering
look at your wounds America-
how long will you
ignore the bleeding
you keep pretending its fleeting
but you can’t get to healing
if you don’t learn
to acknowledge when
you’re sick America.
What doctor can sew up the
wound in Orlando
what doctor can tend the gash
that was torn there
who can sew-
How about you?
You- you may not be a surgeon
but love can mend
and maybe we can all learn to tend
each others wounds
but it has to be now
it has to be soon.
So maybe we need to
stop putting a price on healing
and for feeling- love.
I don’t want to just
go back to bed
I can’t fucking sleep- fifty ghosts
whirl around my head
crying, we didn’t deserve this,
we shouldn’t be dead.
Stay tuned for more poems from local poets!
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