Deposition on Traumata
We were told, Listen to your parents.  
What can a swan need but a swan? 
                                                    Where did you hide?  
We were not abandoned. We were fed. Cleaned. 
But my sister loved with the mildness of a fawn 
who had not yet learned not to approach the hunter. 
I was too young to drive. 












She loved the bougainvilleas with their bracts savage 
against our camouflage. 
                                                    Out of necessity, there are fish who thrive in  
                                                    brackish water, water unfavorable to the rest. 
We did everything we could. 
                                                    When bonobos are forsaken by their mothers, they  
                                                    forge surrogate families. 




  
                                                    



  
                                                    In foundation-myths, siblings are born, exposed, left  
                                                    to die, but saved. By the she-wolf or a shepherd.  
                                                    And natural abilities. 












She used scissors to pare me. She drew no blood.  
                                                    Lever, or “to raise,” involves a rigid object and a pivot.  
                                                    The multiplication of distance, speed, or travels. 
                                                    A crowbar swung like a bat. Or the bat itself.  
                                                    Simple machines. 
Scissors, like the jaws we have. We are human, I say. 
She says, I know that I was not a tender mother. 
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