*at Seven Poem by HAZEL Calumarde

when i was seven,
every night my mother
bound me in front of
our old lawaan table
that my grandfather
made for me
so i can savor
the taste of education
i felt bitter, i hate my mother
when she hit me and
whenever i showed my instability,
my inclination got me
into meer drawings and sketchings
of dolls and houses
i wish to built but failed
in my frailty, my fondness
brought me the other way.
i know i have lapses, i never
read books and listen
to mother seriously. but i have
the passion, i made my action
fixed in Achilles heel.