I AM MY FATHER’S ONLY UNBORN DAUGHTER.
I gave birth to my mother and am responsible for her death.

Someone who believes that at least one part of her 
is immortal is loose in this room, 
some hag who has set her peat on fire, 
who, as if they are cosmetics, 
is doodling with the fumes.

WHOSE FEATHERS DO
not glisten as her wings

shake with pain?
Whose bird is not hit?

Whose head is not hidden
under her absent lover’s body

in the box she has been
placed in, her office,

the head in which she
waits for someone to heal her?

Whose ankle is not
banded with a name?