the words that i have to describe what happened here are not mine,

have no value to me: slow dissolution before a rupture. the recognition

of pain when the surge fades.

 

even now, i cannot feel. too frightened, or strong, or alone.

all feeling lives in relation to you. how did you manage that,

world-builder?

 

how does it feel to know you’re a god, a mother, a fleshy divinity?

is speaking for you something sacred? or are you fertile like rotting fruit –

pungent and profane?

 

ice floe or no, the tide rises. the memory of limbs quiets in the cool dusk.

i am using only what you have given me. this is all that i have.

daddy frankenstein, i am begging you: look me in the eyes and tell me

 

you don’t want me to live

without you.