A Painting and A Story

DAUGHTER


Run, daughter, run.
I cast no blame, my darling girl. The blood that stains our rough-hewn floor will bear no witness: my own deceit has brought me thus. Your hand your tender hand was just its agent.

Run, daughter, run.
While you slept in another’s womb, I spun the golden thread to bind your soul, forged your crimson jewels from the hearts of skyborne birds. I stole you away, raven-haired and precious, a comfort to my ancient bones.
Run, daughter, run.
Your eyes were not my jaded eyes, yo...