The day you were born
your father came home sober
and your mother, drugged
on painkillers. And the snow
suffocated the landscape with its
purity. He peered into your
nebula eyes, while you lay in your reed-basket,
swept along the nile, terrified of tabula rasa.
How dare you be born at such an inconvenient time,
was his first thought.
His second was on the subject of existence:
Do we persist after we are forgot?
Can we exist if we are never known?
And you floated down the nile,
out into the vast delta,
into the constant change that is life.
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