A little snip, a little trim
To make the birdie sleek and slim
Mommy’s hand, a steady guide
With nowhere left for skin to hide
Cut away the wild and stray
To make my birdie, the Mommy way
Now it’s neat, now it’s small
Obedient to her every call.
The skin is gone, the line is straight
A sharp mark of a chosen fate
No more hiding, no more fold
Just the story Mommy told
A the sting of pain, a little red
Until the birdie’s peace is spread
Now it waits, a quiet thing
To hear the bell of Mommy ring.
No more veil, no more screen
The birdie stands, forever clean
A polished pearl, a steady sight
Held forever in Mommy’s light
A brand of love, her mark of grace
In this quiet, curated space
Now he waits, forever true
Doing everything Mommy wants him to.
I believe Mommy will find this poem a most fitting acknowledgment of her ownership of the birdie and me. I am happy to publicly thank Mommy for having my bird cut, trimmed, snipped and clipped. Thank you Mommy for having me circumcised.
