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Dancing Through Swamps

Mom, did you hear the news about patriarchy today?

Yes, dearest son!
Or no…
I’m not sure.
You mean the gender translation problem?

Not sure we had a problem,
just an honest mistake
we might more empathically suppose.

Perhaps I am too paranoid,
hunting conspiracies
and thereby gathering folly,
yet reversing ancient scriptured words
for penis and vagina
smells hellfire brimstone intentional to me.

So much for my plans to become a priest.

I am so sorry your lack of a vagina
now feels emasculating of your future,
my great-loved son.
What vocation remains
for you to find
now you have become the infertile son
of a sacred matriarchal Priest?

Mom, really?
Tell me you’re not pursuing ordination again.

Why not?
We talk about a priest shortage
brought on by massive defrocking of priests
without the newly requisite vagina.

Maybe I could go into religious education.
Yet, truth told
my head’s not in it,
nor was that an implied penile reference,
teaching all those boys
how and why
when and where
they must now become subservient
to the more robust virtues
of the more sacred vagina.

Maybe you could teach in an all girls school?

But,
I don’t feel like an ecopolitical after-thought,
ready to slurp up only mainstream leftovers.
This reverse translation issue
feels unnatural to me.

Well, of course it does, my son,
you don’t have superior vagina wisdom.

Maybe I need a sex change.

Maybe we all need some trans-regenerational
re-education.

If you say so.
You’re the one for nurturing vagina dialogues.

Standard

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