She bathed me, bade me stand, sit. She fed me Xanax to **** the shakes. She toweled me off; she said this would be the last time. Then to her bed, we lay akimbo cool sheets wading at our knees. I began a song, a whiskied song, an ancient song, distant, old; something about God and how He created us to pain; the God who was origin of all Brother Sister; back to the very first one he made us to pain. Then the song sweetened, gentle He made the pain- since there really is no blame, no Father Mother Sister Brother- save the first one. But then, our first choice, seemed it so- he made us Choose; so He made our first choice, too- knowing well what We are. Then pass That on, making the pain that we make all other pain upon the First... I sang about Him until twilight, until her breaths were soft, peaceful; I whispered this song, inhaling, exhaling until the room rocked and slept.