Sycorax

Sidra brought pink-dotted sugar cookies in a pyrex case,

etched with white confectioners glaze, expertly arranged

but look at what my mother made

a Big Dumb Heart on a cracking porcelain plate!

heat on my neck when it hit me

They were never going to be all Yellow Submarines

there was room enough on the plastic table for one big treat

but why have one when you can fit a smaller three?

besides, one can hardly eat

something so sickeningly sweet

the Creature is bleating against our little green garbage bin

a Caliban-approximate crying to dream again

devil condemned for the ugliest sin

my quick lethal strike with a plastic party knife

I am no Antigone

you are not my brother, though leering in my bones

and sharing a broken home your

upturned lips move in synch with mine

smiling, “Polynices won’t be home in time.”

pink stained fingers, even Sidra saw

‘It’s covered in frosting,’ you fooled them all

she reassures “they’re made with splenda, extra small!”

my hands make empty fists where I used to hold you

where I liked to hurt you

and the bin, where I hurdle back to maybe save you

where I find you breathless, soft, sleeping

heavy eyelids froze open partway,

half moons delighted just to drown me

in light I never lent back