He forced their mother, many years ago,

to submit to the honeymoon conditions.

She had to climb mountains in the daytime,

he held her over a cliff —

he dangled her,

making her swear she wasn't frightened,

that she was a woman and she trusted him.

If she combed her long, honey-blonde hair,

she had to climb the high mountains with him,

be dangled over cliffs,

with a Valentine waistline and heavy-lidded eyes.

(she must despise him now)

No, she must depend on him now,

like a voice and its echo.

She trusted him night and morning

and had managed to walk

across the high, narrow footbridge of his life

away from the grief, and the confusions

of her own life.

And so,

so,

she must depend on him now.