Blood
by Selinthia Avenchesca

Blood, is it all we are?
Should we happen to glance in the past, and ask, 
What if? What if we never met? 
What if? What if I should be a stranger in the crowd,
   rather than your son?
Would I hold such longings in my heart? Such forbidden desires?
Would I care?
Would you?
Are we nothing more than blood?

December '98