“My sister
is a zombie,”
she says,
  caressing
her preg-
nant belly.
  “Are you
alive?”
she asks,
  and I don’t
know,   stopped
breathing
  a while
ago.

  I search
for my
  our
mother’s
uterus,
  maybe I
just left
it there.

  But all
I find is
  a letter
from my
father.
  A fare-
well note,
I think.
  A plea
I hope.
  An invoice
it is.

  And from
depth I sing
  “Daddy,
daddy, I’ll
send it