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