Kyle Lopez is a poet from Montclair, New Jersey who lives in Brooklyn. He graduated from the College of William & Mary in 2017, where he won the Goronwy Owen Poetry Prize. Kyle is now a full-scholarship student of New York University's MFA program in poetry. He has received fellowships from NYU and the CubaOne Foundation, and was recently longlisted for the 2018 Cosmonauts Avenue Poetry Prize. His poems are published or forthcoming in Argot Magazine (and Hargot, its hardcover edition), Cosmonauts Avenue, Capital Pride DC, GUM Magazine, and elsewhere.


Also by Kyle Lopez: Pride Month


Kyle Lopez

Rorschach



I'm an exotic biracial butterfly. — Jade Cole, America's Next Top Model (Cycle 6) A mother labored for hours to birth a flesh question mark misshapen for bodily exit. It grew to a napkin scrawl, a notebook scribble, and eventually an ink blot on bibulous paper. Called itself 'I.' You stare at this canvas ask it if it speaks Arabic am I Muslim was I born here do I think we should let Syrian refugees in you probed, mr. uber driver, I mindin' biz scrollin' GIFs The beard comes up often in its thick black fullness, which one grindr greg shifts gears on when I say I'm not interested: from 'sexy scruff' to 'allahu akbar looking asshole' received 2:39pm followed by block I question which shapes you see on I when things get strange at TSA. How facial hairs expand and twist like bushy tentacles darker, más dexterous than human hands. I sheer it sometimes and the reading shifts. The ink looks more like flames, salsa hips whirl out from the heat, you address I in Spanish. When the Spanish replies clumsily you look down and away. The head hair too. Short faded along the sides, you say it looks like Drake (prominent lightskin #2) or (generic lightskin) et cetera — BLACK for sure. The officer who booked I when I spooked nice white neighborhood of East Hanover, New Jersey while door-to-door fundraising for clean water filled in my race on his form in all-caps just like that. The bub who buzzed the fuzz said his neighbor swore she saw I enter his house hours before so he drove around to find the Black stopped I mid-pitch on another street, beckoned to his vigilante vehicle, stepped out with some backup lug. He accused I, drew near so I'd empty the drawstring bag saw the town clearance badge, map, banana tumble out. Called anyway. Remember this is about you. Test results vary. What I am matters less than what I surely am not. Person equals filed neatly, understood. I equals ink splotches on white cards meaning no meaning meaning no meaning



Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.