Julia Gaskill
the wembling of a muppet fan’s heart.
In 2017, Steve Whitmire
is ushered away from the role
of Kermit the Frog,
and the internet
forgets how to cope,
and by the internet
I mean Muppet fans,
and by Muppet fans
I mean three hundred or so people,
and this is not the first time
I have watched a temple
be torn down by my community
or by my own brain.
This is not the first time
I have dug a grave
for a person still living.
To admire a celebrity with the whole of you
only to tuck them away,
pretend you never loved them
is a hurt we must bury within ourselves.
How do you begin to talk
about the death of an obsession?
How Steve was the first I truly admired.
I mean, obviously after Jim,
Jim is everyone’s first,
but Steve gave me a reason to stay.
The golden-haired,
wide-eyed youth
who was all smiles and laughter
in his earliest days.
My first Kermit.
If anything, I cannot deny him that.
How Steve picked up the reigns,
allowed this franchise to keep on.
I know he was not alone in this,
but still,
he was the one who said, “I will do it.”
Did not flinch.
Well, maybe once,
but still.
Took up the green.
Dusted off the banjo.
Brought back the rainbows.
To watch this man
be consumed by the ugly and the cruel
has left me gutted,
has flickered out something sacred in me.
How he turns a sea of fans into a warzone
and calls it justice.
And here,
here is the thing that eats me alive:
to love a franchise so heavily dominated by men
is more difficult than I can say,
yet I do it,
say this franchise is worth my time and my love,
say these are good men whom I can trust,
only to find betrayal on his tongue.
Maybe that is the challenge of it all.
To feel a closeness to these performers,
address them by first name in conversation
as if we are old friends.
Only to realize we know nothing about them.
Only to feel used at day’s end.
I dig the grave deeper
and deeper and deeper.
I place his name at the bottom,
and I promise to not come back,
but I know that I will.
I know I will come back
each and every day
with flowers,
always fresh and
always beautiful and
always green.
In 2017, Steve Whitmire
is ushered away from the role
of Kermit the Frog,
and the internet
forgets how to cope,
and by the internet
I mean Muppet fans,
and by Muppet fans
I mean three hundred or so people,
and this is not the first time
I have watched a temple
be torn down by my community
or by my own brain.
This is not the first time
I have dug a grave
for a person still living.
To admire a celebrity with the whole of you
only to tuck them away,
pretend you never loved them
is a hurt we must bury within ourselves.
How do you begin to talk
about the death of an obsession?
How Steve was the first I truly admired.
I mean, obviously after Jim,
Jim is everyone’s first,
but Steve gave me a reason to stay.
The golden-haired,
wide-eyed youth
who was all smiles and laughter
in his earliest days.
My first Kermit.
If anything, I cannot deny him that.
How Steve picked up the reigns,
allowed this franchise to keep on.
I know he was not alone in this,
but still,
he was the one who said, “I will do it.”
Did not flinch.
Well, maybe once,
but still.
Took up the green.
Dusted off the banjo.
Brought back the rainbows.
To watch this man
be consumed by the ugly and the cruel
has left me gutted,
has flickered out something sacred in me.
How he turns a sea of fans into a warzone
and calls it justice.
And here,
here is the thing that eats me alive:
to love a franchise so heavily dominated by men
is more difficult than I can say,
yet I do it,
say this franchise is worth my time and my love,
say these are good men whom I can trust,
only to find betrayal on his tongue.
Maybe that is the challenge of it all.
To feel a closeness to these performers,
address them by first name in conversation
as if we are old friends.
Only to realize we know nothing about them.
Only to feel used at day’s end.
I dig the grave deeper
and deeper and deeper.
I place his name at the bottom,
and I promise to not come back,
but I know that I will.
I know I will come back
each and every day
with flowers,
always fresh and
always beautiful and
always green.
in which giles explains to buffy what she means to him.
they taught me cold
taught me rigor
taught me reliance on tabled texts
this is how you train the be(a)st
this is how you expel f(a)i(lu)re
i came with clinical purpose
the perfect disciple
but i did ask them
did ponder aloud
about the possibility of softness
of belief
of love
i was told
love was not fat(h)e(r )
love was easy to de(sti)ny
blessed is the watcher
blessed are the scoobies
blessed be the slayer
they did not warn me
did not lift my eyes
did not unstick my tongue
you were handed over
as a job in need of doing
and yet
how easily i would wish
to war with the world
all for the sake of you
how quickly
you have become the only f(r)iend
become the only dan(u)g(ht)er
i will ever need
blessed are thee
who dare love
in this valley of death
they taught me cold
taught me rigor
taught me reliance on tabled texts
this is how you train the be(a)st
this is how you expel f(a)i(lu)re
i came with clinical purpose
the perfect disciple
but i did ask them
did ponder aloud
about the possibility of softness
of belief
of love
i was told
love was not fat(h)e(r )
love was easy to de(sti)ny
blessed is the watcher
blessed are the scoobies
blessed be the slayer
they did not warn me
did not lift my eyes
did not unstick my tongue
you were handed over
as a job in need of doing
and yet
how easily i would wish
to war with the world
all for the sake of you
how quickly
you have become the only f(r)iend
become the only dan(u)g(ht)er
i will ever need
blessed are thee
who dare love
in this valley of death
it was only a matter of time before I wrote this poem.
so I’m two footsteps away
from tracking down my first ever scyther
on pokemon go
((right on the portland park blocks
just like my brother promised))
when the men on the benches
start up their theme song chorus
what type of pokemon is that?
baby, what a rare breed you are.
what luck to have you lured here.
how badly it is we would like to catch you.
& nothing follows me as my pace quickens
except the trickle of laughter & the glue of their eyes
their words remind me how I am never allowed to vanish
how there is no virtual realm
that will repel the catcalls or the male gaze
might categorize me as “human”
can make me forget the hunger
looming behind every pokestop
there is no comfort in knowing
I am only ever safe playing this game
((my eyes locked on phone screen instead of
scanning grass for wild beasts on the prowl))
when I walk down the street
hand held by my male partner
only then am I at my safest
only then can I lose myself in this game
it is not until I am securely
tucked away in my pokeball of an office
when I realize how I never got to catch my scyther
I left it behind with all the other monsters
but I do not fear for its well being
if only I too had blades for hands
maybe then I would not quicken my pace
maybe then inhabiting a female body
would not feel like a game I can never win
so I’m two footsteps away
from tracking down my first ever scyther
on pokemon go
((right on the portland park blocks
just like my brother promised))
when the men on the benches
start up their theme song chorus
what type of pokemon is that?
baby, what a rare breed you are.
what luck to have you lured here.
how badly it is we would like to catch you.
& nothing follows me as my pace quickens
except the trickle of laughter & the glue of their eyes
their words remind me how I am never allowed to vanish
how there is no virtual realm
that will repel the catcalls or the male gaze
might categorize me as “human”
can make me forget the hunger
looming behind every pokestop
there is no comfort in knowing
I am only ever safe playing this game
((my eyes locked on phone screen instead of
scanning grass for wild beasts on the prowl))
when I walk down the street
hand held by my male partner
only then am I at my safest
only then can I lose myself in this game
it is not until I am securely
tucked away in my pokeball of an office
when I realize how I never got to catch my scyther
I left it behind with all the other monsters
but I do not fear for its well being
if only I too had blades for hands
maybe then I would not quicken my pace
maybe then inhabiting a female body
would not feel like a game I can never win
Julia Gaskill is a professional daydreamer hailing from Portland, Oregon. Julia competed in both IWPS and WOWPS in 2016 and 2017, and was a member of the Portland Poetry Slam team for NPS 2017. Her work has been featured on FreezeRay Poetry, Slam Find, Write About Now, Rising Phoenix Review, and Voicemail Poems. Her poem “i will not beg for scraps” was nominated for Best of the Net 2016. It goes without saying that she loves Muppets more than you. Find her work at http://geekgirlgrownup.tumblr.com or follow her @geekgirlgrownup.