When you ask your mother how you came to be
she will look at you presently but be somewhere else.
Her eyes will light with the warm glows of conception
and you will see in her remembrance that you came
forth from light — pure blinding light. As you continue
reading the story that her face always tells, you will
trail her eyes as they land on the figure of her mortal
husband. And then, just like that, the light will be gone
but your mother will be back with you presently. She
will tell you again with her mouth the answer that her
eyes never seem to corroborate…
                                                                                                           “Your father.”