CONTENT WARNING:
This page contains:
- Disregard for personal autonomy
- Body transformation
- Child death
- Death/dying
- Suicide
At long last,
we have solved
the mind-body problem.
My child has a new face
Something came out of her
along with the sputtering stench
of an expiring form
pulled from a car in a
weed-filled lake.
It transformed before my eyes,
distilled into hers.
I am selfish,
all philosophers are.
Her body matches mine.
On days she speaks to me,
we sit in the sun looking at
old photos; other days, she is haunted
by grime and green water and
the remnants of a universal conflict.
The engineers tell me this is normal.
How many times can we be reborn?
How many humanities till we
plunge ourselves into darkness,
fed up, pelting our consciousness
into the graves of time?
I made the decision for her.
She takes her first steps in
a hospital overlooking a silver ocean,
is fascinated by how her
new hair defies gravity,
the flatness of her feet
I fear all of her is not here.
I think she comes to me in dreams
not angry, but asking why
I could not let her go,
why her mortality was not enough
if I know what forever means
