Mama, There's Books in my Bed

I think they're alive. They shed
Pages like I leave stray hairs

Tangled in your favorite brush.
No, wait, don't leave in a rush.

You're not my mother. Who cares?
I dreamed you rowed me out

To sea and left me without
A life jacket or an oar.

I went to where Papa snores
And woke him up to tell him.

He forgave me. Now he's dead.
The chances of resurrection are slim.