Self-Portrait as Epiphany

I thought myself

a child. The river revealed me

a basket. Within, a doomed girl. Grew

& groomed. When came the bush,

I knew to burn. To shear errant tongues

probing the cage.

Mother sang of deliverance. Father prayed

for a son. I revised myself

a daughter. Renounced duty. Rolled

stones down my throat.

In a dream, the angel reveals me a book.

I learn myself grime

among false gods. Unashamed,

I cramp. Between my legs

a clot. From a clot

I’ll make men. Hollow

myself holy.

Nothing laughs like me.

Silent, brutish—a woman

baring her teeth.