You asked me what circumcision was,
And I told you the doctor cuts the foreskin.
You frowned and said it hurts,
And looked at me, waiting for confirmation.
Of course, it hurts. It's painful
Like all manner of cutting.
It was painful for a tree when you cut
Its branches with that sword you fashioned
Out of bamboo sticks.
It was the pain you felt when you cut your finger
With Nanay's kitchen knife, trying to sharpen
The tip of an arrown with which to shoot
Lola's santol. You cried, didn't you?
Though not exactly the same way I cried
Looking at Tatay on his deathbed
That first morning of May.
You looked at me, wondering.
Because it was painful too.
Something was being cut, being lost.
But that pain we could bear.
And you asked me why boys needed
To be circumcised. I don't know.
I did not ask Tatay when he took me
To the hospital for this ritual men imposed
Upon themselves. I am sure he wouldn't hve
Known the answer. They say it is for us
To stay clean, though it's only the tip of us
That's trimmed. (I don't really believe this,
Because once we expose our heads, the more
We become impure.)
They say it makes us a man. Maybe
It is for boys to feel the pain of becoming men.
So when time comes when we lose our fathers,
We could bear the pain.
It is like sticking up our necks, all right.
Now that Tatay's gone,
You are not only my brother,
But also my son.
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