87 292
87
lyrics & poems
My mother is lying
It is with no lungs
It is with no cries
It is with no throat
It is with no body.
She is lying
She isn’t looking
She is floating around me
She keeps her old hands occupied in the kitchen
She is making the bread
As one’s making a lie
With care
Expertise of twenty years ago
Expertise of always
The ingredients, she is not measuring
The recipe, she knows by heart
A fresh bread roll and a lie is inside
She’s calling me and I’m coming there
My mother, I’m looking at her
Her face still so youthful
Her unbound hair dyed with care
She’s calling me and I’m coming there
Her belly’s bent over the sink
I am right near
I am just behind
I cannot hear her
I cannot hear her…breathing
Then I’m plunging my eyes into her neck
A voice from me’s crying against us
I’m plunging my eyes into her pulse
A voice from me’s crying against the cough.