Sequence of three, 14 March 2010. Not narratively interconnected, and in no case autobiographical.

I was always Daddy’s girl. Watching my daughter with him now, I understand your jealousy. It can’t be long until she finds the time machine.

* * *

We never met you, but we remember your resolve, your self-sacrifice... the loving pain of schism as you split yourself asunder, birthing us.

* * *

My mother: an arrangement of pipes and tubing, the comfort of a glass-fronted womb. The digital alembic in which my fathers’ DNA was merged.

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