god’s throat, smite me. I
left my son in the river. I
came back and he
is missing in the eddies.
I confess I
regret: my brother’s teeth— I
shouldn’t have pulled them
ouy yankingly. my mother’s hair — when
she said classic, I
was thinking greek. my wife’s heart — we
set it out in the sun to
let it crack.
o, gullet of god, I
have seen you roll adam’s apples.
I was gesturing ordinances underwater. I
swam sacred strokes . left . right . left
my son in the river . dive .resurface.left.right.stroke.shore.shake.
divine esophogus, you understand hallways, don’t
you. you understand the constrictions and suck of culverts. when
I picked up the bible, I read a verse that said,
verily, verily, thou shalt leave thy son upon the
brow of an ox, upon the shelf of a river,
and he shall bow at the rising sun, crying abba,
abba, your hand is slipping from mine.
god, when I
swallow, my ears crack.