Proclamation

the child that was not born to me is drawing
on the walls of my uterus a sun
like a grenade
every time I turn aside in my bed
it explodes
every time I die with clasped teeth

it’s silence
only the lullaby from the trenches stays with me
like a tremor on my lips
untouched by love or loving man

to be so alone to cry thirty years that
you’re not a mother or a nun
you’re only a woman with your arms dangling down
so close to your body
as you stay squeezed in your too tight pyjamas
a rag
in your bedroom with too much dust and
empty seed shells on the floor

I can’t desert from this war
my heels are dry wax my hair is corn cob silk
my hands do not knead bread anymore
Christmas is announced by thousands of stars
that burned a long a time ago
could these be from afar all my progeny
and all their fathers and the fathers of their fathers

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Categories: My poems in 2016 | Tags: | Leave a comment

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