by Nick Gisburne
They try to fix the foetus in the womb,
To slice and stitch and salvage what they can,
But something bigger, black, begins to bloom,
Beyond the subtle skills of any man.
They try to fix the baby, newly born,
Embedding metal fragments in her face.
The mother, drugged, deceived, is left to mourn,
Her daughter taken to another place.
They try to fix the lonely little girl,
But no one knows exactly what to do,
And when her feathers finally unfurl,
Too late they see the demon that they grew.
They try to fix their murderous mistake.
She kills them, as the world begins to break.
