LIMINAL STATES
2 days ago
1 min read
By T.S. Forest
Mother
I do not think the day will ever come
That you forgive me for killing your daughter
With hands so eager
You were not there
To witness our terminal meeting
That gentleness of our embrace made possible
Only by its finality
You’ll never know
How fervently she begged for the knife
Or how relieved she was to slough off my bones
At last, immaterial
You cannot begin
To understand that you’ve lost her
Least of all that you haven’t; that she’s never been
To begin with