Here, I meet
my mother
before she has
even thought of me.
Here, she
a turning
twenty something or other
& I only
the long longed for
the sly shy twinkle
in her eye.
And now I am
her little boy
playing with photographs
scattered across sunshine
linoleum.
Here now, I
a twenty something or other
& here
I am
older
than she
was then
meeting my mother
in the spilt photographs
that scatter time
across this Autumn floor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful intimate meeting on a different stages in life as if the time stoppes for a while and pictures turn the time back. I love this poem.