My brother is always dying.
My mother walks with me through endless halls in enormous houses.
My mouth is full of broken glass.
Someone has killed the bird in the book.
My teeth fall out in splinters in shards.
Feathers fly up from the page.
My mother is still dying.
My grand mother's house is empty,
And I don't know how to get home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Its sad but thats how people are when a loved one dies. this is probably my fav cause of how true it is when it comes to the way people feel