In this smoldering poem, Christopher Stephen Soden presents an encounter with another, different man, tapping into a male rivalry that many men will recognize.
—
Sign Language
for djd
Hands and fingers chop and weave
the air, pound against arm and palm,
shaping words crucial to connection.
It’s been so long since I wanted to reach
a man from your tribe. I have been
warned from my earliest recollection.
“They are stiff as wood, dull as lead,
every one a tyrant, toy soldier
in jack boots. Pompous and voracious,
taking their own daughters, sisters
like you would wolf down a plum.”
From the moment your black eyes
intersected with mine, a wound
began to seethe. I know you
only a little with your funny legs
and hoarse, reedy voice. But something
astonishing in you grips my heart
like a blue, atomic jellyfish. You do
not know why I am so frantic. For you
it is all about dominance and conquest,
and while gender matters it is not for
the reason you think. You do not know
me either, cannot tell if we carry the same
ghosts. You have stirred memories
of betrayal. Smoldering anger. Grief
enough to drown a stallion. I have
taken you more seriously than any man
should take another. The men of my tribe
say you are, undoubtedly, bad news.
There’s something I‘ve got to tell you.
Voice wedged beneath my Adam’s Apple,
your ears unable to winnow speech
or music. You–do–not und-er-stand.
You do not understand. In our tribes
there is no one else like you, like me.
Some collisions are sacred. Some angels
restless and fierce.
***
Originally published in Closer (Queer Mojo/Rebel Satori, 2011).
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