...and Multiply

by David Winter

“He said: ‘Take now thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest, even Isaac, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt-offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.’”
-Genesis 22:2

As a father, consider the instruction.
Dream this growth of being, spoken
as castration, as deadened manhood’s
final, unexpected flower, kerosened.

Hear the built trust in the boy’s voice,
the pride he takes in bearing wood.
The smell of wool on his small hand,
of sweat slicking a rope. You know

even before this burning, how smoke
excites the nostrils, how knees need
the Earth to touch them. You know
the crimson of a creature giving life

to a just God, the prayers sung
by fearful throats of man and son.
The knife prepared above his neck
shears each of your boy’s prayers.

Walk down the mountain together,
eyes touching Earth, smoke hanging
in crimson wool, your boy no longer
bent by firewood’s weight. Your boy,

no longer.

One of David Winter's poems recently appeared in Feast of Fools: Poems, Stories, and Essays on Sacred Fools and Tricksters (Sacred Fools Press, 2010) and another is forthcoming in The Shop. In February he will begin leading a writing workshop for gay elders through New York Writers Coalition. David will be reading April 11th, at Bar 82. He would love to hear from you at dvdwntr@gmail.com.

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Introductions

by David Winter

When I meet a voice carving
masks I forbid that voice to leave
this book. When I meet my voice dressed
up for a disappointing night
when a mite crawls
into a forgotten megaphone, listening.
When I meet speaking out
of turn a voice who breathes best
by match-light. When I meet a measured
silence my voice peels daylight
from beneath her fingernails.

When I meet my voice I listen
to someone else's.

When I meet my voice,
a lost dog.

When I bark.

When I plead
from the knees
of a whale.

When I rummage
through the bones
of a star.

When I meet my voice at a funeral
I did not attend.

My voice who plucks out
three
tongues,
voice who returns to another's
prison, voice who resents the eye
of the undertaker, voice who does not speak
to me, if I un-strangle you
who
will breathe with me?

One of David Winter's poems recently appeared in Feast of Fools: Poems, Stories, and Essays on Sacred Fools and Tricksters (Sacred Fools Press, 2010) and another is forthcoming in The Shop. In February he will begin leading a writing workshop for gay elders through New York Writers Coalition. See David read at The Poetry Brothel this Sunday, February 12th. He would love to hear from you at dvdwntr@gmail.com.

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How to Make Mistakes

by David Winter

Don't do it the way you did
the last time. Inspect each bone
holding you upright. Remove
the most shapely one. Notice
its absence from your body
as you dance. Don't do what
you did before you were born.
No number of warm assurances
will protect you from sharp joy
or its precursor, a shadow
whose touch tints your cheeks
scarlet. Don't do it the way
you were told more than once.
Trust in your oracular organs,
so often silenced by facts.
Don't do it as these words
instruct. They are the silt
of a lived river, unheard
proverbs worn hollow by use,
a careful composition sung
in entirely the wrong key.

One of David Winter's poems recently appeared in Feast of Fools: Poems, Stories, and Essays on Sacred Fools and Tricksters (Sacred Fools Press, 2010) and another is forthcoming in The Shop. In February he will begin leading a writing workshop for gay elders through New York Writers Coalition. He would love to hear from you at dvdwntr@gmail.com.

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