Mother Poem by Bernard Dewulf

She would almost have been old now,
a tangible woman
with worn out fingers.

On Sunday she would find out
how I stayed behind
with someone she recognised.

In her latest confusion
she would keep a mother's order
on my recalcitrant table.

And in between my pressing life,
in between her rules
she would hear out my entire heart.

I would be an accomplished son,
she would put away the dishes
and meet my father again.

On my other days she would
happily be absent. But I would
be able to bear that.



English version by Sapphire/Ramona Lofton