By nature, I was as Mother;
by nurture, I was as David.
It was the water that became thick with blood.

A shiney diney,
nestled in a twiggy wood—
like a silver bird egg,
awaiting a confused golden goose.

Over pie & coffee
we spoke of philosophy,
ancient religions, & dead languages.
Vibrantly alive, yet ashes of the past
poured from our mouths.

Through summer storms & winter’s blue,
through the fall & spring that never came,
Foster’s Diner stayed the same.

White chocolate with a dusting of cocoa
was how David described my skin.
I called him a gastronomer—
for I felt my freckles numbered the stars.