I am accused
i am accused of tending to the past
as
if i made it,
as
if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a
monstrous unnamed baby,
and
i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and
named it
History.
she
is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on
her own, beware, she will.
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