Mother told you women can build homes
out of men. You said houses maybe, not homes.
You told her father was a bad example
of something you could build from.
You said homes are made from materials
born to last. You told her women make
the best homes. You told her men are
only good for building houses.
Why God is a Father
You tell her one day a tadpole
will swim in her lake. That she’ll
have invited it. Opened her legs
and swallowed it whole. That her body
will blush, balloon until birthday season.
Her blood will river from a spring inside.
That her pain will have purpose.
Scars will be a token appreciation
for a son screaming into the emptiness
of a fatherless room. Blinking twice
in the darkness before her eyes float
to the surface of yours, she materializes,
this is unnatural. Only a man can cause
so much pain for a woman and call it a gift.
Only a man can take away so much light
and provide none in return.
By Aidan Chafe