masturbating in the synagogue bathroom
after regie cabico
the difference between men and women i’m told early on somehow happens in bathrooms.
in my synagogue there was a single bullet hole in the mirror above the men’s room sink
or at the time i imagined it the perfect splintered circle of an absent god’s mouth pursed
and kissing his own reflection. this is how i’ve learned to understand men.
the women’s bathroom was a more elaborate place. i remember crimson ornamentation
dripping from the ceiling. ottoman with a fat plush beard. silk napkins folded by three
perfect clean mirrors. this is how i remember it. why i am always trying to crawl back inside.
why i was scolded with smiling arms by the rabbi for mistaking that room for mine.
oh sam – you are such a good boy.
and here i am in this ugly stall again
pulling myself apart. wrenching my skin
up to heaven, a collection of nerve endings
breaking down. i can hear my family cry out
for forgiveness in a huge room to a dead book,
my right hand is a bullet wound, the mouth
of an absent god. my god my cock is a hideous thing
pressed between all these holy books. my god
is a man with a dozen bleeding mouths. a prayer,
an explosion of cold letters. a new white flower
for my black suit jacket.
BY SAM SAX
the difference between men and women i’m told early on somehow happens in bathrooms.
in my synagogue there was a single bullet hole in the mirror above the men’s room sink
or at the time i imagined it the perfect splintered circle of an absent god’s mouth pursed
and kissing his own reflection. this is how i’ve learned to understand men.
the women’s bathroom was a more elaborate place. i remember crimson ornamentation
dripping from the ceiling. ottoman with a fat plush beard. silk napkins folded by three
perfect clean mirrors. this is how i remember it. why i am always trying to crawl back inside.
why i was scolded with smiling arms by the rabbi for mistaking that room for mine.
oh sam – you are such a good boy.
and here i am in this ugly stall again
pulling myself apart. wrenching my skin
up to heaven, a collection of nerve endings
breaking down. i can hear my family cry out
for forgiveness in a huge room to a dead book,
my right hand is a bullet wound, the mouth
of an absent god. my god my cock is a hideous thing
pressed between all these holy books. my god
is a man with a dozen bleeding mouths. a prayer,
an explosion of cold letters. a new white flower
for my black suit jacket.
BY SAM SAX
Sam Sax is the first ever Bay Area Unified Grand Slam Champion and Oakland’s first two-time queer Grand Slam Champion. He curates 'The New Sh!t Show', a reading series in San Francisco and facilitates regular intergenerational writing workshops. You can find more of his work in Rattle, PANK, The Evergreen Review, Gertrude, The Nervous Breakdown, and other journals.