Your Doing or Mine

Too tired now, to dust myself and realign for battle again, what
does it matter now if it was your doing or mine, if it was you that

manoeuvred time and space at will, whether it was I that fell or
you who let me crumble? All that has happened is like the evening

sun languishing for a moment on the window sill before the dusk
unsings its light, sit here in the warmth with me for a moment, do

you see what I have become? I knew how to laugh once, did you teach
me, I knew how to cry, did you show me, I knew how to love, did

you trick me? What does it matter if you are just a minor god, waiting
for a seat at the big table? Feel the callouses of my thoughts, their

weary legs aching for rest, their smiles buried in the sleeves of their
own undoing. What am I in the end, now that we’ve walked so far,

together, alone, not knowing, now that I cannot have it ,now that it
does not matter? Tell me if I am saint or sinner, did you make me?

More poems in the “monologues with a minor god”  series here.