Sometimes I think my mother took thalidomide,
Except the phocomelia struck my heart and not my limbs;
My hands, left all too capable, too strong perhaps
For one without two ventricles, or even one.
But that is not to say that monsters can’t be angels,
Angels monsters. My mercy is as heaven’s: by the coin,
One transient side to each unwanted fate, for no one
Is of saccharine, through and through.