by Denise Bossarte
Father’s Son
They say a dog-father sires no tiger-son,
so I wonder what your bā ever did to deserve
you—which flood he funnelled into the furnace
of his belly, or which monastery he patronised
aeons ago, or even the thin wick of a singular
life away. I wonder how your wén grace
burst into birth from the muck of his sea-silt wǔ,
not armour-clad but crowned in undying light.
One he tried to beat out of you into his waiting
maw over & over again. In this version of the myth,
your mother the fly isn’t dead, just deadbeat.
You couldn’t crave a softness long grayscaled
from memory, so he thought himself victorious.
But a wounded snake is still a snake. Still rears
its bruise-mottled head & strikes, venom intrinsic.
Did despair override hurt to brandish a butcher’s
cleaver with your artist’s hands at him, or hunger?
One that lanced through you with the terror
that you are the same salivating animal
he is. That you are your father’s son.
L.Y. Rinn is a Malaysian-Chinese game localization specialist and aspiring speech pathologist who loves danmei and mythology. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Echo Review, Pandan Weekly, Aster Lit, Afterimages, and The Tiger Moth Review.
Denise Bossarte is an award-winning writer, photographer, and artist based in Texas, USA. When she’s not immersed in writing, she turns her lens to the world around her, exploring visual spaces with a keen eye for the unexpected. Her photography captures the powerful imagery that can be found in unusual places. She enjoys writing, exploring new art forms, and teaching contemplative photography workshops. She lives in Texas with her husband and literary cat, Za’ Ji. https://www.linkedin.com/in/denise-bossarte-phd-39975841/.