He talked about something sacred,
Something old,
This queer New Yorker Rabbi said
That the storytelling could be a pretext
And a permission
To use them in our lives today
But not be used by them
And threading it through the forward motion we
Find ourselves in
One that doesn't discount so many peoples
Experiences and truth
We can respect the sacred without
Being crushed by how it predates
Some of our own fantastic evolution
He said he wasn’t feeling unholy,
This queer New Yorker Rabbi said
. . .
Someday the divine crafter of hearts
Who intimately knows the folds of mine
Sees the smooth strong walls of my Aorta
Free of all the clots the places
Evangelical pastors and mentors
Tore up in me
Surely the all knowing would understand gears of faith
And can see the truths which can spin in my chest
Surely he would know I am not an abomination
Nor unnatural
Surely he would see I’ve found something
That offers more serenity than before
. . .
He said the leg extending from his child’s drag
Was beautiful
The Orthodox father of the
Queer New Yorker Rabbi said
And they laughed together
Two oceans flowing side by side
Neither overtaking the other