No, I didn’t make her. The maid is an android but

Lily is alive. Warm flesh;

Yes, feel her.

She’s from the 20th century,

The cryo patient rotting with cancer when she was frozen.

We warmed her two years ago and regenerated her eaten cells.

She sings.

No, I didn’t teach her.

When we first woke her up she couldn’t remember anything,

Anybody. She woke up a blank.

Yeah, didn’t know her name.

You know, the lab lost her records.

Yeah, inept bastards: I put up ads, no takers,

So I kept her.

Yes, she sings like a flute! She started in the spring ‘round April,

Couple of weeks after I brought her home.

She could barely speak and she started with her song.

One day I came home early and a long lush music

Was pouring out of her.

It resonated so clearly the doors and windows

Flashed open as she sang!

No, I didn’t stop her.

Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.

She stopped too soon for me, anyway when I asked her

Who she was.

She smiled, her ice green eyes grew wide

And said: “I don’t know.”

And then she went up to eat.

She sings in her room downstairs all day, when I’m out.

I’ve asked her why,

She never explains anything, says she doesn’t know.

The maid told me she likes to stand in the hallway

So her voice travels up the stairs,

And the light from the courtyard above flows

Into her black hair and down her white neck.

I don’t know what the songs are about, no words, pure melody.

You’ll hear her at the party.

I have her saying after dinner;

She sings while I work at my formulas.

Oh no! I don’t make her sing.

She loves me. I saved her. She was cold and rotting

And I made her well and warm.

She loves to sing, she is a singer

And I let her sing and sing

And she smiles, and never says a word.

She stands up the stairs looking up and out

And she sings with still black hair and marble green eyes

Smiling into the sun,

Singing for me,

No, I don’t make her sing.


© 1991 - Scott Lawrence Lawson