Widow

God,

You carry this device in my chest called   love

&  I – a child of  infertility – choose you to  sterilize 

the left testicle  of  intimacy    While sitting on the right

(hand, of course)  I grope  the goose   which is your ghost

Not holy   not resurrection   not an assault on the Nature

of Divinity     :::: God,    you once castrated   my belief in you

It    was February   or March   in a sublet in   Brooklyn

&  I (still) respond  by emasculating  your vision of   toilet paper 

Hand sanitizer         hands clapping into a Berlin night 

Let me   be clear :    the door is not  you,  the skylight isn’t me gazing 

down  at you,  the window  isn’t your widow   

I never view you as anybody’s hard husband                Never wed    for now

Let me be empty  – the Indo-European root signifier for widow

Let me bereft 

Let me leave your bed side while  I neuter  you out of my galaxy 

Click here to read VI KHI NAO on the writing of this poem:

Image:Avenue des Pierres Rouges 20 Yabby CC 2.0