where are my mother’s arms
where are my mother’s legs
I am scared of our mother’s grief
*
there’s breath in her body
but it doesn’t hit the right spots
my mother’s body looks numb
in retreat, locked into herself
don’t hurt me a n y m o r e
*
the palms of her hands spread out
barely connected
our mother is barely palpable
she blinks twice as much
but slower
as if her reopening eyes could change the world
instantaneously
*
she consists of sounds unrecognisable
the sounds you hear that will become unforgettable
they’re barely audible
they’re air
the dead air, exhausted, in the living
grasping for a son, unfathomable
*
we breathe in our mother’s grief
that dissolved our mother’s body
u n c o n t a i n a b l e
Croque-Melpomene 