Jacob
after the Rembrandt painting
by Ashleigh Kennedy
Why do you want to know
my name? I am
my mother’s son, but here
I am, a scavenger, drinking
these plains of dust
and bone, my footsteps shiftless
as a sojourner, no flesh
of my flesh to call
a home. Yet what
is a body but a land
to ignite, my inheritance
I drink and drown
each night? I rest my head
on graying ground; the land
sucks its teeth at me, its stones a bed
for jackals’ sons. Even my mother
named me deceiver, one
who grasps each hours’ heel. This is
the only river I can fill, and yet
I met a man tonight, my arms lacing
into his sleeves, the earth beneath us holy
and howling as I clutched
what’s mine of a God
who breathes. Oh, to be cradled
and be crushed, his hands nestling
my neck, my hip, crying Bless me,
bless me! as he waxed
my thigh, a new name wrestling on
my lips.