My mother was better looking than me,
hips efficient as a racing car.
Dalton China complexion, single strand
of pearls given by a deep sea diver;
Borsalino slouch hat for fun. her pleasure
in kissing games; an unfinished novel
she was writing.
I was her only daughter and to me
she was someone stepping off a Catalina
sea plane or about to board; ocean breeze,
perpetual hint of fruit and slender palms.
Twenty years ago, but i still see her flanks,
her sunburnt torso in a two-piece swim suit
poised at the edge of expanding nightfall.
The silver revolver on her nightstand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem