by Alex Carrigan
After Danez Smith
I would be a fool if I died before I wrote a poem about Ta Nisha.
You ask: who is Ta Nisha? And why does she deserve a poem?
Picture this: smooth dark skin, eyes hidden by the swell of her cheeks,
full figure, ear-length hair, square glasses, and a black dress to her knees.
Ta Nisha was a regular at a queer social club I used to frequent in Charlottesville.
Her voice was the first thing you heard when you walked in, louder than
DJ Twinkie’s set. She led a trio of BBWs that dubbed themselves
“The Titty Brigade.” I forget one girl’s name. The one I remember,
a white girl named Joanne, often sang Dear Future Husband on karaoke
nights. Ta Nisha often shared the mic with the DJ or whatever queen was
hosting karaoke that week. Ta Nisha got her own drag show for her birthday.
The queens brought her a cake shaped like two enormous, bare breasts,
with an erect cake penis squished between them, and “Happy Birthday Ta Nisha”
written in glistening, ejaculate frosting. I’m sure she enjoyed every crumb.
So why write about her? I wasn’t a friend of hers. We’re not friends on
Facebook and share only one mutual. I left Charlottesville seven years ago.
She doesn’t live there now from what I can see on her public Facebook account.
Surely I could find more important figures to write about here?
However, the first night I went to that club, a newly-out, shy, bisexual fat guy,
she asked me what my name was, what I was drinking, how I was.
She never heckled my flat singing on karaoke nights. In fact, she once yelled at
me to strip during one sexy song, although all I could do was kick my shoes off.
She didn’t mock my wedge sandals with ankle straps, nor the Goodwill church dress,
nor the horrendous makeup I wore to the club for the one Halloween party I attended
as “butch queen first time in drags at a ball.” I doubt she remembers me after
all these years, but after everything, I still remember her. I remember how
unashamedly happy, how unconsciously loud, how beautifully thick with two c’s
Ta Nisha was that I have to write her down before I wind up forgetting her.
Alex Carrigan (he/him) is a Pushcart-nominated editor, poet, and critic from Alexandria, VA. He is the author of Now Let’s Get Brunch: A Collection of RuPaul’s Drag Race Twitter Poetry (Querencia Press, 2023) and May All Our Pain Be Champagne: A Collection of Real Housewives Twitter Poetry (Alien Buddha Press, 2022).
