i.

i did not come into
this knowledge like
rip van winkle
(who suddenly woke up
and found himself old)

i've always known
i could make 58
dumb bodies for you.
you can have green eyes
waxy skin
dark hair
i can attach
light fixtures
to your head,
show that you're
alive.
you can have a
favorite book,
a pet peeve,
but it all depends on
how many words i can
gorge into your schisms,
your voids,
and if i can suture them
together.

ii.

i watched you systematically
exceed my expectations.
sloping upward,
your mouth opening
to spew its syllabic
slush. you, acting out
the slow churning walk
that zombies do.

iii.

here's what i didn't know:
that you came into this world
angry. that your anatomical
lapses, your outbursts
of hunger
were caused by
patriarchal absence.

you'd roll around like
a burnt out light bulb,
cracked because you couldn't
contain your image of me,
no memories for you
to subsist on.

iv.

i shouldn't say that.
you're not a light bulb.

i know too well
how you vanished.