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| "Sangre de Christo", © 2016 David Prashker |
From my mother’s death
I learned
not to crave a sympathetic breast
a loving heart
a hugging arm
to shield me when the thunder pressed
against my heart to do me harm
Pity those cradled in the nest
From my father’s treachery
I gleaned
notions of responsibility
from his agnosticism
faith
from his rootlessness
security
rebelling
as all sons do
against their fathers
until they are intellectually weaned
Pity those pinioned to the rock
From my friend’s convictions
I acquired
scepticism
from his books
ignorance
from his arguments
bigotry
from his Law
injustice
from his creeds
dogmatism
from his humility
contempt
(who after all knows anything he has not lived?)
and I rejected his daily meal
for a lifetime’s sustenance
Pity those shackled in the prisons of their knowledge
From my lover’s absence
I gained
patience
longing
abstinence
my greed unsatisfied
my lust unratified
my passion through my loneliness sustained
Pity those suckled at the breast
From my God’s death
I extracted
humanity
aloneness
independence
guilt and innocence
expiated
without the full price
of repentance
Pity those rocked in the cradle of Paradise
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