Your diary inspired me, but your biography appalled me:
A husband on each coast of the United States, a chain of lovers
twined round the globe, seducing and seduced by
your own father. An abortion which you retold as a birth,
never naming which of your men might be the father.
Lover of your father, mother of your brother, you died
this day of a poisoned womb, your body an inhospitable
home for your ardent, airy spirit and your nereid soul.
Still, frail, fallible, and deceptive woman, mermaid,
mirage, deceiver or deluded, you wrote my truth
in your official fiction, “the Diary”, and for that, Anais,
I must love and honor you as my foremother.