Lingual Frenectomy for the Anglophonic Dream
by Moses Nasari
I love my son.
Blood pools in his mouth as I slice
his lingual frenulum,
the scalpel
stuttering through pink, veiny flesh
before the final snap
of the stringy tissue fully parting,
his tongue finally
free.
I love my son.
I cradle his face as he
weeps, wiping away the
paste of saliva, gore,
and tears as I hold him
against my chest,
hushing him as his blood
plasters my blouse
to my skin.
I love my son.
I ease him off
of me,
beaming at him,
at what I have just done:
an unlocking of
infinite doors,
a triumphant emanci
pation.
I love my son.
I ask him to repeat after me:
로켓, 로키, 로봇
he says:
Rocket, Rocky, Robot,
his R’s so
crisp and clear
even as crimson spit trails
down his mouth.
I love my son.
He grins at me with stained teeth,
tasting the newfound freedom:
Rocket, Rocky, Robot
Right as Rain
Rhyme or Reason
Rags to Riches—
I do not
understand him.
I love
my son.