Amputee

The first time I witnessed my son’s boner,
I gasped, then pretended not to see it,

proceeded to help him into Spiderman
underpants as he looked down

and laughed. This was not
what I had in mind when he

grew through me and out,
an enigmatic ball of my fragments

somehow forming a living thing that
wasn’t me but was, pulled from my body

like an amputated internal appendage,
and now I sometimes can’t stop myself

from imagining my lovers as their mothers,
phantom limbs of  fragmented women

who’ve, like salamanders, regenerated
penises, searching for a way back in.