Sister Mary Appassionata's History of the Aria
— David Citino
In Memorium

Every creation tale, god loves us enough to make our arms
long enough to reach the tree of life, the burning bush.
          Flogging the falcon
          Teasing the taco
          Charming the cobra
Between Tigris and Euphrates, Apsu moved his omnipotent fist,
gathered speed until the divine glitter of the Milky Way
sprayed out across the skies. And there was light. He rested.
          Choking the chicken
          Wapping the pud
We know the real sin of Eve and Adam. Forbidden fruit.
Fig leaves are a divine way of saying Stop it, you'll go blind.
          Waxing the weasel
          Flitting the clit
Athenians praised it as the gift that keeps giving.
Women worshiped dildoes of wood and leather fashioned
by the dark-eyed craftswomen of Miletus.
          Dialing the telephone
          Beating around the bush
In Lysistrata, women praise the joy's length and heft.
To Sappho, every student was the itch and scratch, the poem
that burns and soothes.
          Drilling for oil
          Pearl fishing
Galen said we hurt ourselves holding back, kill, chill heart
and glands. He praised Diogenes for whipping it out in public
          Pounding the flounder
          Ramming the ham
Luther confused Onan's sin with self-abuse, when all
he wanted was not to rub his brother's ghost the wrong way.
Augustine saw a potent demon stand, his palm sprouting hair.
          Tugging the tube steak
          Playing the pocket hockey
          Draining the main vein
Let us praise lovers of the self from Genesis to Revelation,
the end of childhood to just last night, every time we grow
full enough with want and love to sign, dance
the mortal choreography, rub until sparks fly,
play our starry part, our lonely art.
          Bopping the bologna
          Answering the bone-a-phone
          Five against one
          Finger painting