Poets Crafting Queer Perspectives on Afterlife

Connecting Through Grief and Generational Memory

The correspondence between Steven Reigns and myself unfolded over several months, fueled by the recommendations of influential figures within the queer literary community. With our shared focus on issues of queerness and the impact of AIDS, it felt almost inevitable that Steven would be a touchstone for my forthcoming poetry collection, *DEAD BOYS IN SPACE*. This work employs elements of science fiction to explore heavy themes like generational trauma, memory, and the AIDS crisis, weaving a narrative that pushes beyond traditional bounds.  Meanwhile, Steven’s upcoming collection, slated for release in 2025 titled *Outliving Michael*, honors his dearly departed friend Michael Church, who lost his life to AIDS in 2000. As I engaged with Steven’s work, it became clear that my peers recommended him not just for his talent, but for his generous spirit and prolific voice in the queer literary space.  Our email exchanges morphed into something deeper, culminating in a desire for a collaborative interview. Given that Steven resides on the West Coast while I primarily work from New York, I never expected to meet face-to-face. Yet, serendipity struck when we both attended the Publishing Triangle Awards, an event dedicated to celebrating queer authors and publishers since 1989. Post-awards, our discussion touched on the long shadow cast by the AIDS crisis and its ongoing influence on our identities and artistic expressions. We delved into the sadness that permeates memories of the dance floor—a space both celebratory and laden with loss.

Finding Connections in Artistic Expression

The emotional resonance of Steven's *Outliving Michael* struck a chord with me. Our works share poignant thematic overlaps that emphasize grief and memory. I asked him about the origin of his collection and his relationship with Michael. His responses revealed a deep generational bond that informs his art. “The poems in *Outliving Michael* came forth as I grappled with making sense of life after outliving Michael. My reflections on our friendship became the backbone of this collection,” Steven explained. He noted that this book serves as a companion piece to his previous work, *A Quilt for David*, which addressed the life of a dentist associated with HIV transmission. His choice to shift focus from a stranger's story to that of a dear friend underscores the importance of intimate connections in navigating loss. I, too, reflected on how my *DEAD BOYS IN SPACE* maneuvers through various forms—particularly the GRID series, which constructs an intricate web of meaning around simple words. The structural choice was intentional, echoing personal and collective narratives shaped by the historical weight of AIDS. Steve's own intimate take on creativity resonated as we discussed how both of our works push against the boundaries of conventional form. While he initially designed his GRID poems intending to capture the essence of particular feelings, the restrictive nature of the grid became an allegory for societal containment, especially as it relates to the histories of queerness and public health crises. “Creating within a confined structure was not merely an artistic choice," he noted. "It inherently reflects the limitations imposed on queer lives, trapped between societal expectations and the harsh realities of life during the AIDS epidemic.” As our conversation unfolded, we both acknowledged the disparities in our generational experiences around AIDS. While Steven lived through its acute dangers, I grew up amidst the lingering echoes of those losses. The gap in our experiences further emphasizes the importance of storytelling—of capturing lost narratives and weaving them back into the fabric of our collective memories. Through this rich dialogue, it becomes clear that the artistic renderings of grief, nostalgia, and hope are not just personal; they are inherently communal, binding us through shared histories and aspirations for a future that acknowledges and honors the past.