In Laughter, in Strife
by Veronica A. Bettencourt
for Aunt Doris (neé Robson)
I was fifteen when you shielded me from the subway station creep
as fast as he unsheathed his prick. Taught me to spear his ears
with a high-pitched holler & stand ground before charging
upstairs. I knew then you chose the right name: you were a Dorian,
a one-woman phalanx braced by a crimped wig & platform shoes
that were their own stage when you belted Rent songs like you
were the diva of Alphabet City fire escapes. Miss you. I’m sorry
we lost touch. Heard they hauled you to that stifling town
where they never knew how to hold you & shoved you
underground. No service. No fam-fare. As if they knew
no orthodox eulogy would do. Sashay your hip bones,
doll — I’m writing you back from oblivion. Let’s tear
the town in matching gold lamé gowns, rip their sleep
with the staccato of your talus & my stilettos as we strut
to a rooftop above its bitter smog. Did I tell you James Webb
laid bare the kaleidoscopic splendor you knew transcends
our earthly shrink-wrap? Darling, claw back your scattered atoms
& pour those cosmic sequins down your waist-length curls.
Glam-up galaxies where no one will snuff you out.
Veronica A. Bettencourt’s poetry has been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize and appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry London, Poetry Wales, The Mississippi Review and elsewhere. She studies with Mark Doty and was selected as Participant in Poetry for the 2026 Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference and for Civitella Ranieri workshops.