Cronos

disguise yourself as a rock or a girl
(that's what i did). i watched 
him looming in the kitchen,
looking for another son to eat.
everyone is a sugar cookie cut into
the outline of a gender-- don't forget that.
when i cut myself i bleed purple
like a lizard tongue.
he iced each boy before devouring-- 
giving them little frosting pants 
& gum drops for eyes. 
everyone's father is Cronos,
a hungry & sharp-toothed God. he burns
the cookies on the tray & eats
them anyway while a girl in an apron
sits at the table, stirring
a fresh bowl of dough. 
let's make more he says.
we love our fathers, we must
& i am safe because i pose in
a dress-- i help the girl stir.
i have a memory of being eaten,
but it is only imagined. only real
boys can remember their father's
teeth coming down on their bones,
bit into pieces & scattered out
into a blood ocean. when i feel
lonely & not alive i think
of all my organs as fruit, especially
pears-- those soft green kinds
& one brown one in the middle 
of my ribs. when Cronos goes 
to sleep, as all gods eventually do.
i take out the pears & cut them
into thin slices, eating myself
as an act of defiance. i say, 
by the dim kitchen light,
i'm a boy & i'm being eaten.
i offer the girl pieces but she
shakes her head & says that Cronos
would notice if she ate
so i eat it all myself & before
i'm even done i feel them start
to grow back. i put on the dress
& he wakes up. this time i ask
to feed him the other boys
their soft sugary skin. they sleep,
they have never tried to resist him.
while he chews i break 
off a piece for myself. 
sons taste like
butter & honey. 
i swallow & my 
voice drops just a little bit
deeper. one must be careful
what they eat in front 
of their parents. they call 
me zeus & one day i'll pull
all the other boys out of my father's
mouth. not yet though. 
there's still too much to eat.
the pears are ripe
& it's dark.