I found my parents’ altars in the attic, cobwebs nestled in the cracked stone

Mummified fruit, tarnished coin, cracked paint

The root of rot and metal and mildew that we can never air out the home

If only they had told me

They never told me because they forgot

My mother, bygone goddess of the sea: her story archived in azure mosaics on a throne sat by dust

is now an accountant

My father, former god of wind: his glory spun through spiraling sigils on a carved, beaded scepter

stocks shelves at the store

All my life I wished for excitement

Now I spoon peas on my plate across blurred-out deities

One hunched over the table in exhaustion

the other asking me            to pass the salt

A child is a product of their world and I came too

soon in the wrong one — tethering gods to a plane where names

dissolve upon entry and memories wilt at the door

If love can be collateral for divinity

Am I destined for the hollowness of their worshippers?

With no more than whispers of sea-drop wings

Not quite strong enough to wield storms