For Theo

reflections on grief and loss

For Theo

Back in March, my friend and poet Theo LeGro, lost her battle with cancer. I have had the gift of being able to share my grief with those who knew and loved them intimately through a series of memorial events which culminated in their posthumous book launch of their debut, Don’t Let is Kill You.

Since her passing, I have seen her everywhere and in everything. Theo was a gorgeous soul and I wanted to share some of these moments here to mark her loss.

1. I first met Theo at a Priyo reading at a cafe in South Brooklyn. She was one of the inaugural poets and I was immediately struck by her art and her beauty. Instantly I had a crush on her and I wanted to bask in her presence a little longer. At the time I was working two chicken shop jobs and was miserable and seeing her was a genuine balm to my spirit. During the break, I went outside and smoked my first real cigarette with her. I am not a regular tobacco smoker, in fact I used to try and bully my mom into quitting as a child but in that moment I was prepared to do anything not only to impress her but to share a moment. Cigarettes, much like smoking weed, feels like meditation. Because its the only time I can focus on my breath without force and it’s also a perfect moment of flirtation. Let us share our breath, let our lips touch and hands graze, an indirect kiss but also let’s share a laugh, let’s have a chat, let’s bond together in this moment over poetry. It was at that moment we became friends. Recently, I was reading a manga for the first time in like 10 years. It’s called Smoking Behind the Supermarket with You. Its about a corporate Japanese worker who bonds with a worker of the supermarket over a shared cig on her work break. It had the intimacy of Frank O’Hara’s Having a Coke with You and as I read it I cried. Here is this piece of art that captured for me the essence of my first meeting with Theo. As I read it I wish I could’ve called her and told her about it. Share with her my copy over a beer at the bar.

   _{(Below is a clip of her reading from this very meeting. She is reading Dress Sexy at My Funeral)}

2. Last Saturday at their book launch, I thought about the impact of their work on both myself and those they never got the chance to meet. I met a queer Korean adoptee who saw herself paralleled in Theo’s work, especially the poem The Good Life. I and another poet friend invited her out to more poetry events, the same that Theo used to frequent and I thought, damn Theo should be here to meet this poet whom they influenced to return back to poetry. They should be here to see how their very being invited people back to themselves. They did that for people they will never meet. They did that for me. I used to rarely talk about my experience as a Black and Asian mixed race person. As seen last month during AAPI month with the great wasian discourse, space for non white mixed race Asian people is limited but Theo made that space for me. The last time I saw Theo I told her about how I never got the chance to celebrate Lunar New Year and they told me we would do it together. We didn’t get the chance but so much of that space that Theo created for me is why I continue to work on my book imagining Black and Asian solidarities. I wish I had the chance to tell them that, so instead I am going to share their work anywhere I can.

3. Theo loved music. The hardest part of grief is knowing all the chances we will never have to go dancing together, to share bands and vinyl and playlists. Our friendship was so young, and the depth of my grief has still been so potent. We both shared a love for Prince and on the day I found out about her loss I danced to Purple Rain in my room. I know they were there in the room with me, I took a bong rip so she too could share not just the longing of the guitar riffs but the also the smoke. At her memorial, they gave out lighters with her face on it and every time I lit someone else’s cig or my own blunt, I summon her. Every time I play Prince, she is with me.

4. Theo and I both struggle with depression. The last time I saw her, she called me up on a bad day to sit with her, and we watched comfort television and movies. We had plans for a Twilight Marathon, a showing of In the Mood for Love, instead our one and only movie night was Sound of Music and the original Lilo & Stitch. I’m grateful for our Favorite Things sing along, to hold their hand when Stitch says “This is my family. I found it, all on my own. It’s little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.”

5. Theo lived the New York life I dreamed of before I moved here. They were not only a core part of the poetry community and a steady supporter of other’s art but they were also a steady patron of live music and dive bars. On Sunday I went to a Opus House Salon hosted by my friend and colleague Kelby in the backyard of Willow Tavern, a neighborhood bar and I thought to myself I am living the good life that Theo showed me how to live. I poured out a little of my green chile bloody mary so she too could have a sip with me. My friend Lara called Theo our sun. And on that Sunday the rays of the sun were bright as they caressed my face. I miss you my friend, I hope you are at peace dancing to the sexiest fiddles in heaven.

_{Poets & Friends: Jade Yeung, Me, Theo LeGro at our friend River’s chap book launch in Chinatown}