I don’t
know this woman
who was
called my mother
once in a
world so far away
from me, my
body does not remember
anything
anymore. No longer can
I walk into
the unknown
there is
nothing. The “I don’t know” is unknown
to me. No
secret left. How to be a woman
was nothing
she taught of course. I can
no longer
draw her name: Mother
into a
circle of burning colours, away,
the ocean
near, somewhere I remember
I was
before. I don’t know what I remember
from all
those years in an universe unknown
not
familiar at all. Run away
stranger,
swim to another island, woman
of water,
woman of tears. Be a mother
at last to
the stones. I don’t know, if you can
hide in the
bushes any longer. If you ever can
know who
you are, truly, remember
the depth
of a truth, your name, I don’t know, my mother,
the urge to
find you is gone. May you remain unknown
to me, less
pain. For sure. I don’t know! Any woman
could be
her, even me, and she could be far away
standing in
front of me. A land of no meaning, away
away from every
touch, ever so slightly can
I feel the
brush of her soul on my skin. I remember
her, a
wounded walled in woman
always
withdrawing from everything. Unknown
remains
this world to her, hiding in the middle, my mother
could be,
for all I can say, a mermaid really, a woman
living under
water, far away, in a world unknown even to
herself:
mother, tell me, is what I remember really you?
(Sestina
February 19th, 2013)
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