I remember my father
Scolding me “Don’t do that”
And in that don’t
There are a lot of dos
Enough for a million vows
Where an invisible bond is mightier
Than the vow between man and woman.
A bond of gamete and gamete donor.
How a bald-headed man
Makes a verb – do – do things
That no paycheck can. Like love and discipline.
It’s beautiful to think that genes
On his Y chromosome, will take
Me to la la land some day,
My cup of tea, with tang
That I will taste with glee.
And I do remember how a long time ago
He too gave me milk, in the form of words
Not pumped through two breasts;
But through every little lining of space
Between his ribs.
