Today's poem is by Remi Recchia

Baptism | Before I Grew Up, There Was a War
       

Before I grew up, there was a war. X & Y chromosomes tangling like flies in a spider's web, wet gray guts caking the doorframe. Embryonic cells huddling against the walls. The siren, where? The writing of my DNA weaker by the minute.

Before I grew up, there was a war. Call it predestination, call it manifest destiny, call it nature vs. nurture. The truth of the matter: I was born in the small of the morning without my penis.

Before I grew up, there was a war. My soldiers fought & lost, tiny testosterone helmets caved in like melted trumpets & inside-out roses. Genitals flowered & prepared exquisitely the feast.

Now I'm grown & have no need for anaphora urgency. I'm grown—still I lie—& grow larger still in the forest, collecting mushroom caps to wear at masculine revelries. I cover my head in church. I anoint myself with oil even when the priest is not away. Every injection a baptism. I baptize myself over & over again, new needle & prayer each week. My legs are thick like the father's, wrists sore like the son's.

Tweet
Copyright © 2023 Remi Recchia All rights reserved
from Iron Horse Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission