Mama said you like to play with demons

It’s not true, child,
It’s not a game anymore.

I think I saw her come in my room one night,
But only her legs. Then she ended.

Is that so?

I think maybe it was just my eyes.

I see. Do you mean open or closed,
to see your mama running around
without her body on?

At times I forget whose child I’m talking to
My mother’s or this one whose name is mine.

At other times waking, I recall
How the difference is small
Between the leaves that this spring grow
And those that next year fall.

Rocking sleepless, a few months on, what parenthood
Does not know the imps and monsters that arise
And stare through wordless changeling eyes
Truth we heard last before we ever understood.

And what parent having heard what speaks
In the echoed chambers of the midnight heart
& the cries of a child
Will utter ever after in labored prayer
Those holy and unhallowed names?