Ish Klein

Ish Klein, self portrait

from Ish Klein’s Moving Day:

Smoke Outside [excerpt]

. . . CUT! Excuse me folks.

That was my nutty someone inside.

An idiot really, I smoke with him.

He wastes my time but I am a fan

all the same.

When I was young

he held my stuffed animal,

an abstract gorilla, away from me.

He had her face — the starboard

and I beheld her little shoulders.

She was burdened by my high ideals of costume

and appropriate place.

I’d pooh-poohed her dimension by doing this;

only half welcoming it. Yeah, the loving tucking in,

the hug and kiss, kiss, kiss,

the shared sweet dream where motorcycle cops adopt us.

She may be waiting still

for the helicopter.

It was confusing that I went to school;

that I shuffled from television to refrigerator to toilet

without explanation. Even when I brought her with me

I did not fully introduce her. I did not dip her

into the actual drink I was drinking, smear my food

on her face. You can imagine, maybe, my reserve.

She was for me to get in and out of.

My reach — a limited thing.

We are all, after all, mainly hiding.

I was a failure as a trans-dimensional male

and a laugh as a trans-dimensional female

and even as a loving goof I was 2 out of 4 stars. One and a half

after the laundry torture; the shallow reading of dust as separate.

Desiring cold soap scent to that of experience.

Neither of us could forgive this rejection.

Did I mention my sister has the gorilla now?

No, sorry, of course not.

She does love it.

My blasé mage sister who used to be perfectly brutal.

Now she outstrips me in everything

including forgiveness and PMA (positive mental analogs).

I smoke to make these things okay.

Okay, not okay but jokey.

That gorilla is often good for a laugh.

It’s stuffed but . . . who isn’t?

Puff, puff, hello mirror.

Hello, me in there. . . .

 Click here to watch Ish Klein read the complete poem.