Why exhume the truth
when lies are so much
more sanitary?
They are white
like sepulchres,
unlike bones,
which are grey.

My father never asked me
to be a detective;
he only asked me
to be a witness
to his distress.

I should’ve protested:
no father should ask
the daughter to condemn
the mother; it’s unnatural

like asking the child
to kill the mother;

I had no Electra complex
until my father asked:
“Where was Mummy sleeping?”
“Where was Uncle sleeping?”