to my favorite
your mother is writing in the Nothing guest room
you can't love anything more than something you miss.
your mother's charcoal-stained metamorphosis
is the silence of my life.
"i'm pregnant"
"overjoyed"
everyone went to the shelters, but no one hurried
in its eyes i was sure i saw some form of understanding.
into the black water reflection: "as long as i am thinking, i am alive"
it was her touch that saved my life, all of the searching was in vain.
and thinking is killing me. red flares, black water, i had everything.
one hundred years of joy.
"you love an idea"
"life is scarier than death"
the last time i ever saw her.
for reasons that need not be explained, you made a strong impression on me.
and here i am, instead of there.