By: Katie Manning, PhD (she/her) Professor of Writing
Before we read poetry in a large noisy room
where several people actually did try
to listen, a poet with a long beard
whom I hadn’t met yet arrived
late and introduced himself,
walking down the line to shake every hand
until he got to mine. “I can’t touch women
who aren’t my wife,” he said, smiling
at my outstretched hand as if
I’d done something silly
by putting my hand out when he reached me.
Surprisingly, because I usually know, I
hadn’t realized until that moment
I was the only woman present—
Before this man arrived,
I’d mistaken myself for a poet among poets.
We didn’t even exchange names. Maybe
women’s names are also off limits
for him, but my mom named me
“pure” on purpose, so I know
my name, at least, is safe to touch. And
here I am, thinking of this at the start
of a new year, seven years later,
writing these words with my
unshakeable right hand.
I do shake my fist at all who use God
as an excuse to exclude—but now,
after seven years of holding onto
something like embarrassment
mixed with anger, I will send
these feelings away and agree: No, man.
You can’t touch me.
~
Katie Manning, PhD (she/her)
Professor of Writing
After Reminiscing with a Friend about 90s Purity Culture, I Make a Found Poem from Snow Blower Instructions
this now is only as safe as
you
STOP
DO
NOT
leave
DO NOT
stay
hidden
DO NOT
fall
especially
in reverse
be careful to avoid
the damage before you start
DO NOT
get caught in moving parts
DO NOT
touch
or
coo
before touching
