Behemoth

My son, betrayed by
His thirteenth Judas chromosome,
My son, His Golgotha
The sideshow in the genetic circus,
Sat before me, symmetrical,
Serene as a bhodisatva.
He grew larger and larger
Until I fell through the gaps in his face,
Substitutes for a mouth left unstitched by DNA.
I sat in his belly,
Like a coin in a porcelain bowl,
Until I was a baby myself,
Wrapped in clouds,
Until my china-hard chest cracked
And golden fish,
Like carp in a pond,
Swam in through the fissure.

David W. Aronson