Why Do You Ask My Name?
by Phillip Aijian
- Genesis 32:29
Before I had a cry, I had a grip.
They saw his hair, but then they saw my hold
around his heel and named me for my grasp.
And still astonished by his hair, his name
was adjective. Always simple at heart,
Isaac saw only brothers in that blood.
To my firstborn shall go—by right of blood
and tradition—the blessing of my name.
His hands shake with the past. My father’s grip
on history was forged as flames took hold
of wounds dealt by his father’s knife and grasp.
But for the lamb it would have been his heart.
My brother has the same blind, foolish heart.
What was birthright? He wanted to take hold
of all the things that came within his grip,
the flesh that ripped when arrows left his grasp.
It was easy to cheat him from his blood;
who trusts your eye will not suspect your name.
Esau now keeps a bone he will not name—
a sharpened shard of game uncleaned of blood;
from the remains of my deceit. Some hold
yet haunts the butchered shaft and knuckled grip
still reaching for the missing hip. His heart
now contemplates another for its grasp.
Such clutching is my heritage. What grasp
did You advise to Abram to keep hold
of that first covenant? Alone your heart
upholds the stars, the promise of his name.
But what of me? What light shines in my blood?
I dreamt of gold ladders I dared not grip.
The truth is that nothing stays in my grip;
a swindled blessing burns here in my blood.
No way to win, I’d settle for your name—
I ought to know there’s little that my heart
can keep. You, too, are slipping from my grasp
as night admits defeat and loses hold.
A name might be a place to hold a man
if he’s out of your grasp and grip is gone.
My blood near spent, I may soften your heart.
Phillip Aijian holds a PhD in Renaissance drama and theology from UC Irvine, as well as an MA in poetry from the University of Missouri. He teaches literature and religious studies and has published in journals like ZYZZYVA, Heron Tree, Poor Yorick, and Zocalo Public Square. He lives in California with his wife and children. His poetry and art can be found at www.phillipaijian.com.
