The Akedah – Steven Goldman

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We are told, every year, the text changes with us,
but I sat my first thirty-eight bindings of Isaac
with no son on my lap. Stupid Fraserian-
Freudian son-killing story, felt more
for the ram, but take your son, your only son,
the one you love, is a bitch in boy flesh.
It’s hard to imagine, papa Abraham
a stroller pusher (like me) but no one
who sometime took that brat at night, danced him
all seven minutes and eleven seconds
of No Woman No Cry, sung the wheels on the bus
in that high pitched falsetto of faked delight
one too many times, holds a knife like that.

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