October, 2017

When I was a child, my mother convinced me that i was surrounded with fine pearls, and that her motherly love was the warmest embrace I would ever feel.
She had told me that when I was born, I was like a small bird, because I fit perfectly into the grooves of my father's hand.
She tells me, with unsettling wistfulness, that when I arrived, my eyes were wide open. She doesn't seem to understand the weight of this; I opened my eyes to the truth before there was ever one to see.
I was never blind.

I am sitting on the tongue of my mother.
Her breath is warm. Her teeth glisten.
My mother is a crocodile.
I cannot leave you, your jaw will clench shut. This is how you love me.

You keep me, loving me like a precious meal
and I- the child that I am- trick myself into thinking you love me.

I, the thing that keeps you company.
I, the small thing.
I, the small bird.