I’M NOT EDITH

by xaahida

Edith died at three.
I lived
invisible until four.

You feared me;
feared my love
my need
my infancy
my untimely death.

For me,
no mothering
no intimacy
no comfort
until four.

Food, clothing, shelter,
but not love.

Too little came too late.
By four I was immune to you.

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