in the dead hours of the night
she comes
and not for the first time
she has been coming to me
telling me things
telling me truths
telling me fictions
filling me with words and thoughts
of who she is and what she wants to be
answering my questions
while i sleep
while i wake
while i do
whispering to me
bring me alive
i feel her urgency inside me
this woman who has been living in my thoughts
for days. for weeks. for months.
i feel her urgency to be born. to emerge.
to be released
limbs of flesh and blood and bone
splayed across both earth and sky
i birthed her last night
and this morning
on a new day
she inhabits pages of script
beloved and bled
from agonizing mind and quivering fingers
pages bled in the blindness of night
and she tells me she wishes to inhabit
more and more and more
what can i do but oblige?
i am alive
and
she is alive
and
i am her creator
