You remember days of childhood illness,
dimness outside not shaping
into any particular season,
laying under blankets on a sofa
with a bucket for vomiting
on the floor beside you, drinking
hot blackcurrant juice, reading
Shardik relieved not to be in school,
and the presence of your mother
constant at the edge of the memory
yet not forming into a vision of her,
her words faded beyond hearing,
while you remember the weight
of the book in your hands.
09.05.2026
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti