R.I.P. Peter Conti (aka Peter of the Earth)
I hadn’t seen him in a few years, drifting apart when we moved to Virginia and never reconnecting after we returned, and had no idea he was sick, much less dying.
He missed his 30th birthday (today, Saturday) by one day.
I’ll always remember the carefree Peter who let it all hang out when the music was playing and he was surrounded by friends. The Peter in the picture here (at the National Poetry Slam in Chicago, 1999, courtesy of David Huang), who stood by me as a friend that entire season when ‘a little bit louder’ was born into a community divided. The Peter who could go toe-to-toe with me in a debate without ever letting it get personal, because in the end, we were fighting for the same thing.
The Peter who introduced me to a kind of spirituality that didn’t demand a church or a bible or any outward symbols, simply a desire to connect with something larger than one’s self and draw strength from it.
The Peter we always joked about being my gay twin brother, and who, despite his own insecurities about his poetry and his performances, inspired me every single time he got on stage. The Peter who brought me to full tears three different times with one of those performances, more than any other poet I know.
The Peter who had a way with words and never, I think, truly realized how special and talented he was.
Not even death can take that Peter away from me. Or from anyone else who knew him well enough to call him friend.
Rest in peace, Peter.
And if there’s anyone who could figure out a way to come back now and then and watch over his friends, I believe you’d be the one to pull it off. So I’ll be looking for you every time the music’s playing loud enough to get me on the dance floor; for that sign that it’s okay to let loose sometimes and simply enjoy the moment.
Thank you for your friendship. You’ll be missed, but never forgotten.
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