My father was a vampire & I get this from him:
dread of daylight, sick morning quease. It is why
I fight for things I don’t want, this compulsion for elixir.
Limbs shake & I am vile pressure sky. So ill
I cannot even prepare coffee-grounds ephedrin
for that liquid injection. He has given me a necklace of bones
& crystal. Evil will not dare touch me.

My mother slept too much, retired to bed in
midday comas & I tried to revive her with forceful tea
but no mechanism worked. Four o’clock was the saddest hour –
no lamps on & silence corrupting. She has barely aged,
all these years & people say she’s a lily-skinned witch
with milk baths & smokey spells. Agelessness was her gift
to me.

We lived in a city of sugar cube buildings,
wet ruins dissolve. A doll’s house, scratches on
the furniture and a little toy brother. I learned to cast veils
of invisibility & nobody could see resemblance in feature.
In those years, my bones were made of powder.