i.m. Jeanette ‘Jan’ Jane
At some point, you must’ve given birth to them:
inflated balloons the way you once did me.
You must have taken strips of torn newspaper,
marinated them in the water and glue.
You must’ve helped me mummify tightened skin;
sculpt the death masks we would colour back to life.
And we must have waited for the hardening,
readied paint for our expressionless faces.
We must’ve done all this, I remember it –
I just forget why we made so little else.