By Liz Leighton
She was like an expensive dog:
An elaborate pedigree
Paired with a high-strung demeanor
That intensified with age
Upon a senseless flight of fancy
I looked up her death date on Wikipedia
To see if her spirit had flown from her body
Into that of my unborn daughter
So that they may be one
No such luck
I was probably some babbling termagant in my last life
Do you think he did it?
Somebody did it.
But do you think he did it?
I don’t know
She said he did it
He said he didn’t do it
To disbelieve would be a betrayal
I don’t think he did it
But she would know better than I
God stands on the scaffolding of Heaven
But does not deign to look at his mess below