D’s Bones

Once my mother’s husband
made me cut off the head
of a chicken.
This was another effort
to make me into something
we each sensed I was not,
a man.

I clutched the chicken
by its horny feet,
extending its neck
over wood block.
Two hatchet blows necessary
to sever head strings and bones.
Then one leg sprang free
and the chicken twirled ‘round,
a wing flapping phantasm,
spraying blood and doubt
all over our
world.

This episode, and many others like it, were unconscious efforts to eliminate all but one penis in a thoroughly dysfunctional family system. Somehow, I emerged at least partially intact.