Monday, April 23, 2012

How to be a Man

Don’t tell me how to be a man.
If I want to wake with the dawn on Easter morning,
crawl out sleepy-eyed into the lawn’s cold dew
and lie wrapped in a blanket of sunrise
as the heat of day burns the tomb from wet limbs
and the first light of the songbirds
sends streaks of yellow across a field of blue;

if I want to write a sonnet on sea-foam
or on the seaweed that wrapped around me once
when I was young and its tentacles were like a baptism;

if I want to climb an evergreen tree
like it was the mast of a man’o’war
and sit in the sky with the wind
as my only friend,

then I will. Leaving you, arms
wrapped around your knees staring
at your navel, trying to remember the manliest
way to unfold yourself. Until you decide
whether your works are enough to earn a rite of passage
—and even after that—
don’t try to tell me what manliness is. It’s not
for you or me to decide, thank God.


Robin said...

...You must be swift as the coursing river...

*exit, cackling evilly*

Ethan said...