A Desert Tent by Mike Ferguson

Isaac
Blind
He waits for me in a desert tent
The wind with sand needles my face
I squint crows feet
I am the son
My mother wraps me in deception
My father waits in a desert tent
I smell the lie that is on me

He is old, like the womb that grew him
He is blind
He is my father
His name means laughter
I am still a clinging thing, without a wound

I carry the lie in a bowl
I feed it to my blind father
His name means laughter
The lie is heavy with spice
It is a strong lie
That my mother has prepared