After picking fruit, came empty stomachs.
We followed the men, to the Priest
half-covered in silk and half in shadows,
his voice quiet, assuring our working limbs
God rewards empty stomachs.
Then the I lost care, the Father charged:
‘Men don’t sleep with men.’
And then, my mind ran like deer.
In the bush, enlarged, I pulled my pants;
I looked, there was hair: this made me a man.
Shouldn’t I want a woman:
Only I look at Tomas. Then came feeling:
tongue, hands, eyes & voice
make love in pandemonium.
After the service, dinner: apples.
In bed, I grapple; even so, I have only
to think about Tomas; I touch
the mistake, thicken, the haggard doubt:
I lean down, look and start:
I make a man using hands,
can I be a man with women’s need?
Pieces of the crime
drip down dark blankets,
warm scrawny drops
his dubiety solicits
Las Venas Abiertas de Piety:
I chose to remain silent praying that night
sliding down like a root in the heat of earth.
clutching mineral & men’s sweat to my breast.
Old doubt, with old skin, peels in serial exodus.
Inflexible growing disremembers the man
of barbed perfection and obedient offspring:
enigmas sprout in flesh at the brink of devilish Tomas
(Iceman Parable, cont’d, new stanza)
Tomas accepted. The Priest, head-bowed
The sleep-over forms a cross
approaches and on his chest. About his
the sound robe are words
of doors in drip-drop
are locking loudly. evening-letters.
Yo no voy a tomar ‘ice.’ Fue divertido: “ICE”.
Akiva Israel is a transgender artist currently doing time at California Men’s Colony.