asking millennials why we’re so obsessed with sunsets
because what is as striking as the end of the day? because we can’t resist a giant neon sign. because it’s nice to know someone could be held that high so low. because maybe that’s where the pot of gold is. because our swords have tarnished and we want something beautiful to look at. because we love a good pink and our turnout for the barbie movie was proof. because we love a good orange, the memory of a sunkist burning its way down our throats tasting like the summer of ’96—knees asphalt-kissed leggings teal with zigzags my freedom as long as the horizon when it bleeds. because we’re grown and we’re not afraid to cry. because for some reason we always need some kind of nature-related excuse to cry. because the sun says I’ll be here tomorrow and means it and we love that for her and we need that for us. because the way that clementine sugar light holds me is more sacred than anyone could ever understand. because our tangerine crayon nubs are all her fault. because when I was seven I had a windbreaker that was the same electric purple-pink. because it was supposed to protect me. because she glows and so did I once. because she won’t tell anyone I’ve been crying. because this is another kind of prayer. because I want to go back to her, that blunt-banged brown baby girl, seven years old and skinned knees, and tell her the one thing that never changes is the sky.
Melissa Anne Tolentino
Melissa Anne Tolentino is a Filipina American writer based in the Washington, DC metro area. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Noctua (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). A Best of the Net nominee, her poetry and prose have been recognized by a number of publications and organizations, including Rust + Moth, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, South Florida Poetry Journal, The Adroit Prizes, the Raleigh Fine Arts Society, and the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers. She can be found on Twitter @sometimesabard and at lissatol.journoportfolio.com.
Why this poem knocked Martheaus out:
First, I would just like to come out and say I am not a millennial. Of course, this poem--in its stretching and longing for a colorful joy--transcends the generational divide. I just wanted you to know that I (and my pitiful Gen Z brain) loved the poem precisely because it speaks to a particular spot of time that I (and I suspect many of our readers) also identify with.
What a lovely poem on the line level. We open with this very inviting title of questioning and answer in the first line; I was immediately in on that first line and thought it did well to launch me into the poem, keeping that "because momentum" throughout. Nostalgia and reflection are really rich emotions to allow imagery to pop and I just love the way you invite color in to give this poem electricity. I mean we get a tip off with the "giant neon sign" at the top of the poem, but you really give BIG BEAUTIFUL NEON with lines like "memory of a sunkist burning its way down our throats tasting like the summer of ’96—knees asphalt-kissed leggings teal with zigzags my freedom as long as the horizon when it bleeds" and those smaller syrupy phrases like "clementine sugar light" and "tangerine crayon nubs are all her fault."
The poem isn't just nostalgia and fun colors, though. There's a real tension beneath the lines that I found interesting. Through this warm, conversational voice we still get lines like "it’s nice to know someone could be held that high so low" and the symbolism with tarnished swords and electric purple-pink windbreakers. There's a real feeling to this loss conveyed through these images. That feeling is strong, but those more indirect images make it a little less easy to grasp (which I think mimics not being able to hold that past time). In other words, the tarnished sword, the question behind why nature is the entry, the slight mystery behind the story of this windbreaker--all those complications give the poem more nuance and texture.
Interview:
I'm really enjoying the interiority of the poem (that is, moments like the windbreaker where the speaker is calling on something significant to them that the audience might not have all the same details about). Yet, the poem is also throwing itself in with a collective. How did you think through writing a poem with personal emotions, while also balancing this "we" voice?
There is obviously not a one-size-fits-all experience that can be attributed to any generation, but when writing I like to use my own personal experiences as a starting point and then try to build a world around them that is broader and has a wide range of feelings–in this case, feelings that I think millennials can relate to. No, not every millennial, or every person reading this regardless of what year they were born in, had this windbreaker I’m talking about or these leggings (though I do know a lot of us did live in leggings and oversized sweatshirts between the ages of 2-10 and then again in our late 20s/30s). But I believe a lot of us know what it feels like to just want to be swallowed by the evening sky. We know what it’s like to sit on public transportation or in our cars and let that warm 6pm light bring us home. We’ve definitely tried to parse each color in a sunset using all the words we know. And that feels like a lot of things–despair, hope, sadness, joy. And those feelings were absolutely different when we were little kids versus teenagers versus adults. So I think that’s the universal part of this piece, and that’s how I approached writing this.
Can we peek behind the curtain? What parts of this poem gave you the most difficulty?
The first iterations of this piece were long. Like, really long. In the first draft I tried to shove the entire experience of being in one’s 30s and not knowing what the hell is going on in there, but I needed to reel it back, I needed it to soften and be gentle in parts. It just didn’t come out of my brain that way at first.
How should we think about this poem in the generational conversation? Why the entry point through millennials?
The obvious answer is that I’m a millennial and none of us know what we’re doing! We are all sad to a certain degree; we all want to go back to being carefree! But also, to answer that first question: does any generation really know what’s going on? Did they ever? I don’t think so. I built this poem based on what I know of myself and my friends and peers, but I also don’t think the overall sentiment is locked behind a certain set of ages or generation-specific core memories. Yeah, it helps to set the mood. But at the end of the day, the way this poem feels is still the same no matter how old you are.