My voice is changing again…

I’m a Bar Mitzvah boy.
Two weeks shy of thirteen.
Performing for the first time
Before family, friends, a congregation of witnesses

Go ahead Bar Mitzvah Boy.
Read ancient script-with no vowels-from a sheepskin parchment
Sing ancient chants- in a foreign tongue –with obscure melodies.
Wrestle modern truth-words of wisdom- from the cryptic text.
Lead the congregation.
Become a man.

Is this right of passage ordeal enough?
No-
Schedule the performance at the precise moment puberty courses through my body
Rub my throat with sandpaper,
Grab my vocal cords and yank them down to my gonads,
Go ahead.
Transform my reedy grade school soprano into a croaky, cracky junior high rasp.

Go ahead Bar Mitzvah Boy. Sing. Become a man.

Okay.
My voice is changing— but sing I must.
Speak I will.

About forgiving debts-freeing slaves-jubilee year

Justice-the sweetest lesson decoded from the ancient letters.

Years pass.
Wife and daughters provide reminders enough
Yet my voice overdeepens still.
Privilege, power, position give me the pulpit of everyday life.

Hey Professor.
Listen to the voices of these poets.
Listen to tales of misuse and abuse by callous misguided boys
Listen to cries of kids cowering from fists of raging fathers
Listen to young women who grew up kicking soccer balls
Their words can kick the ass off comfortable complacency

Listen hard Professor.
Listen to men trying to love men without getting their asses kicked.
Absorb the surge of hormones from brave m to f bodies
Transitioning in the face of homicidal terror
Embrace the transman- becoming a man he is transforming manhood-
Reminding me to get out of the box,
Teaching me to turn it over
And stand on it
and Shout.

Listen to the voices-real, honest, raw

Now, Mr. Professor
Go ahead, Speak.

My voice is changing again.
unbecoming, rebecoming, ever becoming a man.