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.
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