-I always cried when they gave me to you to hold...-
about your daughters and disconnected phone lines.
I cut our ties long ago,
used them to stab at my skin and wrap around my neck lightly.
The ones you cut though,
oh those are poisen...your love...your way.
Two vomit them up, or stare, starving.
One eats them down, slimey, slithering coils,
to sit in the pit of her stomach-heart.
Each, in her own, refused.
What was it you hated? That you can't love past?
I know, you weren't the fairest of them all.
and Me? I was your own Snow White, the fourth,
wasn't I, stepmother, grandmother, mother-mommy dearest?
only I wrote my own story, took the abused baby away.
and now, now that you're rotting in front of your mirrors,
now that your long beautiful hair has fallen out due to the breast's betrayal,
and you are too old to starve or vomit,
we are gone.
i almost wanted you back, and your sickness i'd forgotten,
then my baby-mother turned and asked me, 'Why?'
I told her there was no answer but sick
and she answered, 'i know' and slept
knowing I was there and you were gone.
I don't cry for you, I cry for us,
and for them,
the babies who never belonged.