You Bring Out the Emerging QTPOC (Queer Transgender Person of Color) Poet in Me
After Sandra Cisneros’ “You Bring Out The Mexican in Me” and for my children
by Yeva Johnson
You bring out the emerging QTPOC poet in me.
The only fits in a three dimensional Venn diagram in me.
The she hasn’t taken an English class since high school,
who does she think she is, in me.
The woman-loving-woman, yes also married to a man in me.
The black woman at the synagogue whom you explain everything to,
but she’s already read it in Aramaic in me.
The some Lesbians are allergic to cats in me.
You are the one who recognizes my alienation in almost any crowd.
The quadruple entendres that always seem to fall flat.
The flirtations that go nowhere because she doesn’t cross color lines.
You hear me.
You bring out the nascent chanter,
singer of praise songs in rhyme no reason in me.
The shame for lusting after that treyf woman with tattoos in me.
The caught by the Rabbi’s wife eating a salad with bacon guilty look in me.
The I’m not butch or femme, just me in me.
You know who you are.
You bring out the Motown rhythms in me.
The Salt-N-Peppa fan in me.
The fat Grrrrrl in me.
The one who loves the Humanistic Sh’ma in me.
The I don’t feel comfortable traveling to Israel unless
I’m fluent in Hebrew in me.
The I don’t feel comfortable traveling to Palestine unless
I’m fluent in Arabic in me.
Look out, I see your smile.
You bring out the opsimath in me.
The you’ll never be a musician so
just go to medical school dream deferred in me.
The some Black people speak
Standard English, some don’t in me.
The Black pink diaper baby with a Yiddish name in me.
I’m calling you now.
You bring out the Jewish lesbians are Black in me.
The Black Jews aren’t lesbians in me.
The fat women aren’t doctors in me.
The I haven’t seen another Black woman’s solo
flute recital in over 30 years in me.
The maybe no one wants to hear my anthem in me.
The I’ll never give up dreaming and hoping for a world
where there is no big deal about me.
Smile, we can do this.
You bring out the I don’t support gays in the military, it’s
the military I don’t support in me.
The I’m wondering after 242 years
Why we only have Presidents from one gender in me?
The I’m afraid of violence in the movies
but I’ll stand up to a 6 foot 2 violent patient in me.
The I’m a doctor but a fat black woman gets
no respect as a patient in me.
The I always knew I was
different in me.
Look at me.
I am the Black Venus of Willendorf
I see her Afro every morning when I shower.
Yeva Johnson, a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet, musician and physician, whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in the Bellingham Review, Femme Literati: Mixtape 2, SF Public Library Poem- A Day, Sinister Wisdom, and elsewhere, explores interlocking caste systems and the possibilities for human connection. Yeva is a past Artist-in- Residence for Show Us Your Spines sponsored by RADAR Productions and the San Francisco Public Library, serves on the Board of the Marin Poetry Center, and is a poet in QTPOC4SHO, a small and sustaining artists’ collective in the San Francisco Bay Area. Yeva resides in Northern California.