My Mother, My Friend

With flooded eyes, you look at her face,
You hear her calling you,
You straighten your focus,
Already bone taut,
Already seeing only her,
Hearing only her,
No, no, you don’t want anyone else,
Anything else, just her,
Only her, all the time her.

You look up at the sound of street bus
Bewildered why it still moves,
Why it still exists, why there is
Still a name for it, a form for it.

Why the world still remains as it is,
Indifferent, merciless, heartless
You take her in your arms,
Tell her not to pay attention to any of it.

You are one with her,
Then, now, after and forever.
Wishing her permanent peace, in her death
But wanting her to live again, in your life.
My mother.

Featured image: Fishwomen Seated on the Beach at Berck, by Eugene Boudin (c.1878), France, via

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