After the Fall: Poems Old and New

In Memory of My Foreskin

In Memory of My Foreskin Alone, when I whang off, I like to imagine you’re still there, as if you’re necessary, even ghostlike, for full enjoyment. But I couldn’t remember you, not possibly, since they separated us in the maternity ward. Somehow I still miss you or feel that something is missing. Not that I’ve been shortchanged, though I haven’t been over-endowed either. It’s just that without your protection I’m generally retracted, perhaps in memory of the knife— anyone would shrink at the thought of it— and I regret the advantage, slight as that is, you’d have given me in the school showers, proudly displaying myself in all my glory before the uncut boys. Being in a state of contraction, I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the beauty of a full-swinging dong. Within the shelter of the foreskin the helmet cap is freer to radiate its glamorous energy. Some are prettier than others, sheathe membranes thin and silky, and some are longer than necessary— I knew a man who had one fit for a horse, giving the illusion of length without the substance. 16 It is a loss, undoubtedly, though a minor one, but, ah, the task of life is to deal with What Is, not with What Should Have Been, and as a Jew I can’t say I regret the sacrifice, part of the ancient contract we, as infants, make with our parents, our tribe, our history— leading to years of therapy, of course. That’s also part of the package, which either destroys you, or if you’re lucky, you survive to learn essential things about the limitations of belief, and the mystery. Let’s say about the bargain that the advantages in the long run outweigh the disadvantages. It’s the price to pay for being a Jew, and, ultimately, in spite of all the kvetching, I’m more of a man for it. 17 ...