WHEN THE BABY SLEEPS
If, like black matted crows in a sky of diseased ink,
We killed each other by default; if in the fashion
Of prayers lost in a whirl of unkissed smoke,
We were by changing currents swept away; the mirror
On my bedroom wall would never have been replaced
By rolls of lurid paper. The child is yet asleep.
Through an open window, lonely clouds,
And lonelier dreams, seek morbid company.
I am good enough. I ask for her to be returned,
For a second chance at smouldering lust.
I am mocked, defied. A mother you chose to be , they say,
And a mother you must remain. He lies unaware
Of my treachery, the lies I have woven
Into the life, this bed we share,
A daughter you dreamt of and that I reared. Tell me,
When you see the light in my eyes fade seamlessly into hers, when
You seal her throttled body with an embrace instead of my own,
Do you ever think: is this what I wanted?