Magic in the afterbirth, which I ate
the day that you were born. I was shadow

that the midwife brought in. It wasn’t fate,
you see, that brought you to me. We both know

that you’ve been in me all this time. This makes
me your grotesque parent. Born blind, second

sight is a gift, like that itch that still aches.
All this time you thought that you were destined

to be forgotten. Who would want a freak
like you? Desperate, sullen, you’ve search your earth

and dreams for something else. I’m still the shriek
that wakes you wet, like the day of your birth.

Only, though, if you want this. No is fine.
Without consent no god would call you mine.