DAUGHTER Poem by Tomas Lieske

Your feet have squashed my grapes, your hands
kneaded my dough until I could no longer breathe.

You have baked bread from me; I smelt it in the morning
but it soon dried out. You've emptied me.

You have put your cigarettes out in my mouth, written down
your conversations on my skin, squeezed your smile into my eyeball.

You have undressed me and you've laid yourself
in me, your cold feet trampled on my innards

until broken. You've taken my thumb in your mouth,
you have sucked off my bones. All that remains:

the peace in which you slept, that I have stolen;
your childhood's roll of film, that I have closed.