It resided in thought the way orphaned babies are left in boxes, incessantly insistent to be held and wanted. Time did not change that. In truth, I hated it because I did not know what to do with it. Hungry? Soiled? Or worse — colic!

It continues to drift in my mind, this impertinent child. I looked at it and wondered if it was human after all. Perhaps it was dropped off by some alien life form, or a being from another dimension, continually feeding on human energy. Or a parasite, like ascaris, promiscuously snaking its way thru all the messy portals and tunnels, stamped with its scent trails of decay, waiting for death to reluctantly abandon ship.

Every fresh spring I walk to is turned sour or dried. Yet this crying would not stop, pleading for me to tend it.

“I am not your mother! I cannot do what you ask of me!” I cried, “I’m sorry, I am not ready for you. I don’t even know what to do with myself.” and trembled in shame and defeat.

It became very still, staring at me with bright, tear-laden eyes. I looked at it, bewildered I reached out my hand, still afraid to touch it, but another voice tells me to nurture it and help it grow strong until it consumes me completely.

It cooed and giggled. A tiny hand grasped my finger and brought it to its face and started to suckle.


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