This is how it was that year, after four thousand

winters by the pond. My brothers falling

from the Egyptian sky. Bearing the blame

of skin disfigurations for a century. Knees added

to witches’ broths with incantations. The jelly

of our blood thickening lakewater. I witness my misery

reflected in the mirrored eyes of a fly.

If you could have seen

my skin flashing celery-green in the

underwater of mornings, expertly

picking through the most delicate of mosquitoes

and minnows for my table.

Four thousand and one winters. Surely

now you understand my coldness.

I’ve burrowed through the tangles

of your hair for the last time, dug

into that small frog-space, waited

to feel a breath of kindness from you.

Waited for you to take me under your

sheets, or warm me with your mouth.

When you wake you’ll find I’ve

left like a thief, taking your precious

golden ball, your silk gloves, the claw-foot

bathtub.