Not much between despair and ecstasy

Even after I watched the news—clips of a 10 gallon blue vat being carried out of your building, your refrigerator sealed shut with police tape, the pictures of the boys you kissed too hard. Even after I heard what they found in your refrigerator—two human heads and a heart in your freezer—I could not bring myself to call you a monster.

Your father told the reporters that when I was pregnant with you, I experienced seizure-like fits. My swollen body would stiffen, foam at the mouth, and my eyes would peel back like paint as if I was trying to look at you.

The day your apartment building was gutted and paved over, I began to obsess over your baby pictures, for anything that would predict the way you learned to love seeing things inside out.

Your brother legally changed his last name from Dahmer but I, I cannot erase the stretch marks. I still see your eyes in my mirror. The scar where they pulled you like Persephone from my stomach.

There is no reminiscing here. No one wants to hear how you were a wonderful child. They only want to watch your car crash of a life on repeat. Your adolescent obsession with road kill—how you would bike for miles with a garbage bag filled with whatever cadavers you found on the street. How could I possibly not see this coming, they say.

Did I squeeze you too tightly when we crossed the street? Child, when your father and I fought at night, did you mistake it for lovemaking? Did I teach those fingers to pluck families apart like flower petals? I love you, I love you still. Darling, was it the sound of the dead dog's bones as your father dropped them one by one into the bucket that seduced you? Did it sound too much like your pulse? Was it the day I drove away from you—freshly graduated from high school, two months premature of your first murder. Did I put too many states between us? Did you put your own heart in the freezer, next to the thought of me?

Would Mary be forsaken if Jesus had not grown to be the son God had intended to father? If he did not wear a crown of thorns but instead, wrapped it around his knuckles. Will I be forgiven for the sins I did not commit, but created?

When you were small, I told you you can grow up to be anything.

I love you intentionally. I love you with every bit of conscience I was born with.