You tell me me Lilith has become a fiend,
a vampire, a screech-owl, one who preys
on children (I have three and she has none),
sentenced for disobedience to run wild,
hideous now, howling for all she lost.
You tell me I was taken from your side
that I might always find a refuge there,
a warm and nestling creature like the cat,
safe from the free but haunted world of dark.
And I’ve adjusted splendidly, I think.
My apple fritters are the best you’ll eat,
go where you will. I keep domestic life
tidy and clean. I never stir abroad
for fear of Lilith’s shriek and bat-like wings.
Yet when our first son killed our second son,
I—the good mother and obedient wife—
had one quick moment’s envy of her life.