Trespass daughter

Prove on my behalf

eternity connects those

who lie awake

in the cathedral dark

Flesh receiving each

petal of light



When my mother recently saw the words above, which she had typed onto a satin piece of fabric and sewed into the back of one of her handmade books, she struggled to hold back the tears. The book, bound in beautiful purple paper, was given to me in celebration of my kidney transplant in 1999. But, the poem was written, I found out this day, because of the dream she had the night before I was born. In the dream she holds a nightmarishly bloody baby in her arms.


                                                                                                                                                          She knew…