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"We Swayed Furtively" & "Monga-mish" by Cid Galicia

We Swayed Furtively


You were a shadow of rhythm

In the arms, song, and body

Of another man.

So from a distance, I became him

In order to be close to you. I

Uprooted in his posture.

And the song ended and I bended

Smoothly, myself rooting back

Inside like bass strings.

After the song ended, you both said

Thank you and he set you back down

Like a cell phone or iPad.

He would come back to you

When he needed to restock

On Tik Tok views.

The precursors to influencers

Are that when they leave, you like

And leave a comment.


I recognized the music in your body,

Clearly we had met before to this

Music through another’s body.

Los Angeles is a new country,

It breaths on a different beat

Then New Orleans.

My hips sing something different

Then this music. Music there

Is hips and bass strings.

Like their music, my hips slink

To bass beat and my heart beats

On the two and four.

And he left you blessing both your

Shoulders looking from side

To side.

I whispered the immediate next

The bass string instinct of

Another song.


I shadow-coaxed the note to you

And you glanced across the room,

Your breath on beat.

We spoke as dancers do we

Spoke with our bodies and

Our movement.

You walked into my chest where

Your presence was met with wrapping

Up and into me.

And we let our bodies see each

Other through their singing as they

Laughed, a bit of flirting.

We swayed furtively with each other

We let our musical bodies meet and

sing and kiss.

We let our musical bodies rinse and

Wash each other as we swayed

Furtively together.


-At The Seven Grand Whiskey Bar

-Downtown L.A.

A place to share a drink with some friends.

A place to discover your new go-to.

A place to end and begin your night.


I first met her at a house party.

Where they had turned their garage into a club.

I was the new guy, from The Big Easy.

New Orleans, who could dance the blues.

I could not help but notice her. I am

A relationship person; she is too…

She was so active with men and women there

I was convinced her FB status was single.

After we had danced, poured each other drinks,

She moved to the couch. I followed suit.

I sat down next to her, as though we were both single.

We laughed, exchanged some playful words.

After, she rose her glass in the direction of the balcony grill.

Specifically to the man, manning it. She said, That is my husband.

And there was the moment, really a few seconds of a moment.

Where my demeanor popped.

Which is what she expected.

Which is why she laughed.


We’re monoga-mish, she said, twirling her legs and her drink.

I recomposed, reconcentrated, and rethought…monoga-mish?

Oh? … Yes. We both work from home, cook, and eat together.

And in the evenings, he plays video games and I go dancing.

One night, I thought to explore those grounds

In the land of Monoga-mish at The Seven Grand.

My thoughts were positive, I found stools

At the end of the bar. It feels more private there.

She appeared, we got right to talking. I love listening,

Listen enough you will always learn something.

Something you didn’t know about them at the beginning.

Even if it’s not directly in what they say, after two old fashioneds.

She did directly say, I was homeschooled. And didn’t really expect

To graduate, because I was raised in a cult.

I had to turn away a few times. She was dressed casually

But she was wearing the most blood-thirstiest lipstick.

And we both knew at this point that our blood tasted like

seven-year-aged maple wood cast whiskey old fashioneds.

Cid Galicia is a Mexican American poet who taught in New Orleans for over the past decade. He is in the final year of his MFA, through The University of Nebraska Omaha. He is a poetry editor for The Good Life Review, a reader for The Kitchen Table Quarterly, and this year's FIRECRACKER Poetry Manuscript Awards. He was the recipient of the Richard Duggin Fellowship—granted for demonstrated excellence in writing, runner-up for the Academy of American Poets Helen W. Kenefick Poetry Prize, and most recently nominated for the Helen Hansen Outstanding Graduate Student Award. He is currently living in Los Angeles as an Intern to The Editor for The Red Hen Press. His work has appeared in The Watershed Review, the National Poetry Month Issue of The Elevation Review, Trestle Ties Issue 5, and the upcoming spring issue of Trampoline. (@formal_poet)

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