John Wieners is my Dead Gay Poet Husband. And now I'm sort of stalking his ghost.
I have had a slew of Dead Gay Poet Boyfriends, but have recently decided to get married. But once I met this local guy, it was all over.
Today I went to Joy St, behind the Common, where he lived.
Today I went to Joy St, behind the Common, where he lived.
His apartment is further down the street. It "looked out over the African Meeting House", which is now the Museum of African American History.
My next pilgrimage is to his grave. It's point eight miles from the high school where I worked when I first moved back to Mass. So close, yet I had no idea.
And I only discovered him this January. Why no one told me about him all this time, I don't know. Maybe they all just assumed I already knew? Anyway, no point in dwelling. Time to consume much. "Cannibalize the work," I once heard it described as.