Food is a way of processing the pain of daily
existence, whenever my latest shortcoming
is discovered and your voice rings out in healthy
denouncement; whenever Nici proclaims me the
worst mother a child ever had; I pop another
piece of chocolate into my mouth, another slice
of dried sausage called “dried wors” in South Africa;
when you asked whether I wanted rump ripened
for 22 days; I declined, the first time I tried it, I was
ill for five days in a row – food always reveals my
best-kept secrets; since Nici decided to show me
I was a bad parent, all food has me gagging – so
I had better fix my act and learn my lesson once
again: There are no solutions in life, no enduring
relations, no hope – BUT – I place all my hope and
joy in a future existence in another universe – this
one I have already written off..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your works are really from the heart, this is obvious to every reader.