1.
HER EYES// BLEED// MERCY INTO MY SCALP.
//I CRY.//
INTO MY EAR, HER WHIMPERS GROW
TO SCREECHES.
LET MY SON FREE
LET//HIM//RUN// FROM THE CAGE OF YOUR THROAT
AND BE FREE
2.
BLONDE FIEND, HOW DARE YOU//RIP HIM FROM CLASP
THE SEEDLING THAT IS ME
RAISED NOW IS HE
THUS MINE//MINE//MINE.
3.
AUTHORITY TAKES TOLL
POURS, DOWN TO MY
NECK// YET// TANGLES// TIES// TIGHT
TEARING//PULLING ME
DOWN// DOWN//DOWN
“My child, Don’t Run, ”
HE CLIMBS OUT FROM THE SYCAMORE. “THAT IS ME
SICKER MORE
WITHOUT YOU.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem