Claudia Duran. “Traje de Charro”

“Stop staring at me” Tony insisted

as he packed his gilded trumpet,

a bit worn around the mouthpiece,

from hours of practicing Las Mañanitas.

“Te miras guapo” I managed to mutter,

truth was I despised how el traje de charro

transformed even an awkward scraggly brother

como Tony, into a handsome caballero.

Suddenly, at 17, a boy could shine, be recognized

with the pride, honor, and talent of a poet,

un cantante, un músico, a true gentleman

y hombre bien macho.

I yearned to be bien macho

I yearned to be distinguished, guapo, gleaming

basking in gold moonlit evenings celebrating

baby Jesus’ birthday con mi canción.

On Christmas, when Tony returned

from midnight misa, he hung su traje

in our closet to dry off the evening’s

damp sweat of singing, dripping in masculinity.

El sombrero alone tempted me in the darkness

it was the burning flame and I the helpless moth

unable to refuse the beacon of light

I gently touched the sombrero’s embroidered brim.

Rebellion stirred inside my chest

longing swelled throughout my body

I quickly undressed and allowed the musty

traje to sooth my fevered desire.

As I slipped into the charro

I held my breath in fear I’d be heard

porque I trembled inviting excitement to

crawl como pulgitas entre mi sangre.

Me sentí como El Superman,

all in black instead of blue,

both draped in gold highlights, boots,

and accented in red silky smooth.

I tucked mi cabello under el sombrero

my reflection cheesed from ear to ear

revealing la sonrisa de un joven

even más hermoso.

I never embodied such confidence and pride,

I thought; so this is what it must be like

to be handsome, to be bien macho,

un gran caballero en el traje de charro.