In Remembrance of Jubi Arriola-Headley

The poet Jubi Arriola-Headley died last week after a prolonged illness. The loss feels intractable. Jubi was a true friend to many literary communities and a steady guide on navigating the world as a noble literary citizen.

Jubi published two celebrated poetry collections. His debut, Original Kink (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2020), introduced his bold, provocative vision to a national audience. The book explored queerness, desire, sex, and Black masculinity with precision and forthrightness, earning praise for its lyric honesty and raw emotional tenor.

His final collection, Bound (Perseas Press, 2024), deepened those themes. It examined the connections between love and power, constraint and freedom, while honoring the bodies and histories that shape us. Critics described the book as wonderfully explicit and profoundly unrepentant. Through both works, Jubi affirmed a voice that was spirited and suffused with an erotic haze. 

I met Jubi in Boston in the early 1990s, before either of us had published a word. We first met at the bars, where the city’s Black gay men gathered to dance, laugh, and survive. He was a first-generation American, born in 1969 to Bajan (Barbadian) parents and raised in Boston. From the start, Jubi carried himself with a quiet gravity. I was a snarky, emotionally chaotic writing student at Emerson, and he seemed so much older, not in years, but in spirit. Jubi was calm, sensitive, and steady. He was seemingly born an adult. He became a mentor to me, even though he was only a few years older than I was.

Together with Vance Deare and Michael Richmond, we were the founding staff for MOCAA (Men of Color Against AIDS), an organization dedicated to saving Black gay lives through education, treatment, and support. That work demanded urgency and heart. We fought to keep our friends alive, to save ourselves, and to build a community when the world told us we did not deserve one. Vance and Michael died of AIDS, and now Jubi is gone too. Their courage shaped many in our community.

After MOCAA, Jubi worked as an assistant to Ken Reeves, the first Black gay mayor of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Everyone who knew him thought the job fit him perfectly. His steadiness and grace made him a natural leader. Later, he moved to Washington, D.C., for graduate school, and we lost touch.

Years later, literature brought us back together. Jubi became a PEN Emerging Voices Fellow, a VONA/Voices Fellow, and a Lambda Literary Fellow. His time at each fellowship was not just about honing his craft but also about creating community, nurturing connection, and lifting others' voices. It was during his time at Lambda Literary that we reconnected as writers and readers. In those early years, I never knew he was a poet. Back then, we kikied about everything except books—Diana Ross’s wigs, ex-boyfriends, Patti LaBelle’s shoes.

In his later years, Jubi built his home in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, with his husband, Paulo Arriola-Headly, where he consulted in the nonprofit and communications sector, wrote, and mentored.

Jubi believed in queer voices, in Black voices, and in the need to create space for others. He rooted for us.

The world feels smaller without his kindness and his steadiness.