I sit in cabs, drinking in

The raindrops that slide

On the windowpanes—

Unable to touch, the cold

Blocked by glass.


The last time I went home

Winds sang and branches shook

And I quivered and laughed

Water dripping from every pore.


My mother shouts at me,

‘Get in! What will the neighbours think?’

Too soon, my body is warm.


A week later, away from home

My phone beeps.

It’s a photo of a woman in the rain.

My mother—that wicked woman—

Thoughtless about neigbours now,

Her smile mocking my warmth.


My Mother

My mother-

She sees her face blurry in the mirror

Her doublechin is endless.

She doesn’t dare look into her eyes.


My mother-

She remembers her laughter as another life

The trees, animals, rocks, brooks, so unreal.

Her daughers? Do they think of her? Definitely

Not as much as she thinks of them, not even close.


My mother-

The garlic stinks under her fingernails

Hands once soft, now resemble the scrubbing brush.

The milk boils and she lifts the kettle with her bare hands

Nothing burns her anymore.


My mother-

What are her dreams, her secret thoughts, her sighs all about?

Nobody asked between dinner and washing dishes.

Now her eyes are tired, but nobody is there to see.

The people she want are far away, or lost behind hazy glows.


My mother-

Sometimes she is so faint

I fear she will vanish with her next breath.


A place of undying love
And ready acceptance
Where comfort lies
In your mother’s eyes
And your father’s voice
Where sisters laugh and fight
Over clothes and TV channels.

Where I return to
Every time I need comfort
And unquestioning, insatiable love
Where I find solace
In my mother’s cool touch
And my father’s tight hug.

A place I will constantly return to
But where I’ll never remain
Because home is where
Love completely forbids
The freedom to get hurt,
Make mistakes and
Break my heart.