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Written in the same flame hand (Revised)
I.
Written in the same flame hand
As the Chosen mitochondria of your daughter:
Words stampede like metal animals from our mouths,
But she will learn to whisper them to birds.
II.
Our eyes red with the incense of cognitive dissonance,
We are overgrown
With the filigree ivy of our incomprehension,
But hers will be an asherah-
Or, at least, Better,
Or, at least, her gaze will meet God’s when she makes her demands.
III.
We can’t protect her from Him forever.
We will circumscribe away the worst of her options,
Script the day she sees Him in His harsh hospital light.
Or is it better to let her choose the God that bites her?
At least her chapel will not be obscured by her father’s face.
Loving his God-shaped scar so deep,
Branding her with a more exotic one.
