the River of forgetfulness

What does the god of your childhood look like? 

A soft apparition pigeoned in the attic,

a wound eating you one year at a time?

If you could destroy the story before it started,

would you— go back—before the unnameable thing?

If you could return to your father at the foot of the bed,

Would you swallow you sisters whole to save them?

~Rachel mc kibbens