Wilfred Bion’s Big Russian Hat

Artist: Zak Mucha

My sister of celestial monochord, not
blood, told her eight-year-old girl she and I, this new

godfather, met when we were smaller than her. A
breath of silence allowed my sister to hold a

mind opening to the flickering sense of
mom as a child, an unknowing stranger with the

same hands, time existing before birth, and a convex
pool of infinite dark, dotted and swirling deep blue

opening across the ceiling to devour the house.
On returning, the girl asked, “Was he always bald?”

For a goodbye gift, she draws my wife in a
princess dress and me with dark crazy eyes.