Magdalena Ball #39: Old Hierarchies

Old Hierarchies

It might have been something you said
right off the bat
my arrival
the night of the election

I didn’t even know it
at the time, we sat
drinking wine, casually

trying to make things work
while I was still battered
fearful, unkempt as usual

wondering what was next
undecided on whether I should
get ugly or extend a hand

I just kept silent
listened, aware how tenuous
my status, always
the room close
while you tried to explain
why you didn’t care
about bigotry

you were so tough
not wanting concessions, ever
your femininity tucked into a back pocket
smoking a metaphorical cigar

I disagreed with every word

what you were able to discount
not just on my behalf
but on your own

so many years of playing hard
taking it like a man
whistles and cat calls
missed promotions
the bent head
shrugs and laughter

the sting kept going deeper
hitting home
every time.

Magdalena Ball #18: Allison Portchnik

Allison Portchnik

it never happens anymore
and it was a relief
for a while, to be free from
cultural stereotyping
to break open the box

I didn’t fit anyway
in our tiny flat
on the lower east side

but you know, I’m getting older
my body no longer obeys
the constrictions of mind

names once seemed so important
like the fall of the hair
a face captured
innocent of makeup
on film

as if a part of us were contained
there, frozen and pretty
accessible
easy to define

everything else is too terrible
to contemplate
the untamed self

people blanche when you use
real names
you’ve re-created them
taken their souls
recast them into what
they never were
and now are, forever

with a pseudonym
or let’s say, in this instance
a married name

anything is possible

the freedom of obscurity
of opening your body to birth
or looking death
in his bloodshot eyes

don’t ask me to cower
anymore
to trade all that natural anger
for peace
I’m getting on