To my mother
I have life, I have gaps, I have what I want,
I have scars, deep wounds, immense pain,
I have my nostalgia, my questions, my affections.
You left to punish us all,
to mark your territory with the weight of your final absence,
to kill us too.
I died in you
you killed me
you evicted my life with your death,
imposed, impossible, final.
Every day every night,
every day every night,
your memory is never alone
there is always you and your death,
your hand stretched out in the empty space
so purple, so cold,
your mouth ajar,
the sound of your dead chest.
You didn't leave me alone
you just left me without you and with your death,
violent, simple, provoked.
"Only optimists commit suicide," they say.
I believe
What did you think was going to happen?
What were you going to find?
Didn't mother tell you that there is no beyond?
You condemned yourself too,
you took off,
You killed me, you evicted him, you killed them, we got lost,
You turned off your light very early.
With your last act,
sublime act of selfishness,
you gave me full hands.
Who would believe it mother?
Who would believe that you could give birth to me twice?
I hold on to the facts
your body, dead and decomposed is in a grave,
your soul does not exist.
Who do I talk to when I talk to you?
You are memory.
I have my affections, my questions, my nostalgia,
immense pains, deep wounds,
scars,
what I wish,
empty,
life.
I have life.
Maria G
