ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Teo Mungaray is a queer, chronically ill, latinx poet. He holds an MFA from Pacific University of Oregon and is pursuing his doctorate at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. He is a co-founder and co-EIC of Cotton Xenomorph. His poems have recently appeared in or are forthcoming from The Acentos Review, ANMLY, Gulf Coast, The Shade Journal, and Waxwing. He has a cat named Lysistrata.
Previously in Glass: A Journal of Poetry:
Lengua
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Jackhammer
I’ve felt powerless for so long
glancing from one man’s chest to his chin
(never to his eyes)
to the next man, begging
to be desired. I’ve worn the clothes
they tell you not to wear outside
so long as someone looks at me.
I go where the powerless go:
downstairs, through the dark,
where your clothes are packed into brown bags,
where an old man writes the bag number
on your shoulder, so drunk
as you might become, you can’t forget.
Chicago is cold in the winter
when all you’re wearing
is a jockstrap and shoes,
cash for the bar tucked under a hat
or a heel. Here,
I’m not powerless for the first time.
Here, despite the men
who won’t look at me upstairs,
I’m shiny, new, already unwrapped
for their pleasure
and for once,
I decide who can look and who
can touch, and I want them all
to look and touch.
A man who looks like he could crush me
gently pulls at my waist
and when I push his hand,
he walks away hungry.
I’ve never been a commodity,
desired like this, never
been able to deny the pleasure
of calloused fingertips.
Power is inverted here.
The men above, with their leather
and chains and latex
are all performance.
Down here, even the proudest man
will kneel if I push on his shoulder,
if I grant him the gift
of service. Some men are proud
until their knees touch unclean concrete.
Others know to leave their pride upstairs.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
