A man trades his son for horses. That’s the version I prefer. I like The safety of it, no one at fault, Everyone rewarded. God gets The boy. The boy becomes Immortal. His father rides until Grief sounds as good as the gallop Of an animal born to carry those Who patrol our inherited Kingdom. When we look at myth This way, nobody bothers saying Rape. I mean, don’t you want God To want you? Don’t you dream Of someone with wings taking you Up? And when the master comes For our children, he smells Like the men who own stables In Heaven, that far terrain Between Promise and Apology. No one has to convince us. The people of my country believe We can’t be hurt if we can be bought!

Excerpt from: “The Tradition” by Jericho Brown.