I don’t remember the first time I met Andrea (like many I love, as though we’ve always been—and will remain—in each other’s orbit), but early on, while very much a (college) kid, at some National Poetry Slam (don’t ask me which one and where), I remember feeling righteously indignant that anyone had scored Andrea’s poem less than a 30. I was baffled beyond belief. Incredulous, really.
Was it one of the year’s Andrea was on indie finals’ stage? Or the year my slam team faced off against the Merc’s squad in semis? Who knows. It’s a blur a couple decades later.
But what I do remember is me venting my horror (about a poetry slam score) to Andrea (post-bout), and this bewildered expression emerging on their face (catching up to what I was saying), which slowly bloomed into this broad, mischievous and child-like smile. Andrea, then chuckling, shaking their head. Not even needing to say: “Who cares?”
It was an early lesson, among many. Offered gently though clearly, in the way only Andrea could.
I studied Chekhov acting technique not too long after this poetry slam, and my teacher talked to us about “radiating,” giving us exercises to project our inner life and energy while on stage. Strategies to inflect our energy through the audience. All of us working so hard at something Andrea did effortlessly.
Andrea changed the shape of a room. The way light could hold a space. Its frequency. And, to be clear, I’m not talking about Andrea on stage. I’m talking about sharing space with Andrea.
They stood so sturdy in their convictions and values, yet abundant in their empathy and expansive in their listening and humility. Curiosity and tenderness and silliness and self-deprecation and self-interrogation and a resistance to oversimplification or the easy reductions of even the best intentioned of their friends or comrades. All those distinct qualities residing alongside each other.
Andrea taught me a lot about what it means to stand solid and be courageous. Andrea would disagree or challenge friends. Andrea would change their mind and challenge themselves.
In their poem, “Say Yes,” Andrea wrote:
“When two violins are placed in a room
If a chord on one violin is struck
The other violin will sound the note”
Andrea did that in every room. None of us knew we had those chords inside of us, as we watched Andrea transform space after space seemingly devoid of music and hope.
We did a show together at a stunning, iconic venue (I won’t name) many years ago, and I remember feeling physically and spiritually frigid in the space, pre-show (as I sat next to the booth early for sound check). Andrea walked in with Heather, and the contours of color and energy shifted in that space. I felt like I was inhabiting a different body.
It would be one of the more transcendent shows I’ve ever been a part of (and I don’t remember one piece or word I said on stage that night). I just remember sitting in the front row, after my set, with a broad, mischievous and child-like grin weeping while Andrea performed haloed by light above mec.
I know so many folks I deeply love deeply loved Andrea and are really hurting right now, as much as we cherish the unyielding light Andrea gifted that will remain illuminated within us and through us and across countless generations to follow.
But, let me say this: Andrea was one of the greatest poets ever, but that may have been one of the least significant legacies they gifted us with.
As my wife reminded me yesterday when I tried to leave a voice note for Andrea – Andrea found words for things before many of us had them, which gave so many folks courage and permission to take up space and survive and fight back and love hard (others, yes, but more importantly, themselves).
Andrea was a trailblazer for so many for reasons that transcended Andrea’s transcendent art.
Let us never forget Andrea’s poems and otherworldly performances. But let us continue to remember their wisdom and other writings, and what Andrea said in interviews and laughing with those they loved. Let us remember the tender, quiet moments that also captured who Andrea was. Away from the spotlight and the stage. The silly moments: that game of H-O-R-S-E at Andrea’s house last summer where they kicked my ass (and I got blanked for the first time in my fucking life) as we both talked shit the whole time and collapsed into a hug, laughing and crying, after Andrea won and whispered to me: “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to this game.”
I will forever carry the notes Andrea sounded in me. I cannot believe we got to catch up for a bit on Earth and share orbit for this brief time, and I’ll be sure to remain in orbit with Andrea’s light forever. ❤️
