The instructor of nightmares
smiled familiarly; gestured for silence:
‘Now. The fourth lesson.
You are not the age you think.
You are older. Two years older.
You can follow the clues out
for yourself, if you can bring yourself.
Start here. She is not your mother,
you know, not really. Why does your father sob
each night in the dust of the spare room?
How do you think you came
to read so early? It is all clear,
unless you choose to be stupid. You are older, old,
you are not who you think. They are not
wives, but sisters. The animals of Eden
are still half-buried in the mould.’
© Vincent Buckley