mama on my tongue is sweet comfort to my heart
gloss dripping, milking a honey-hardened coat
a tap, a shattering smattering
on the well-soles of my feet.
mama tuts and fusses and tells me not to move
lest i break my wrinkled skin on the glassy pieces
but mama's back is curved like a camel
and it makes strange noises
not the sloshing of water nor the burbling of fat
but gurgling guttural murmurings
shiny tan cling wrap bound like a second skin
wilfully grafted onto mama's sculpted form
a smiling face scrawled on in whiteboard marker
on the moist surface of stretchy plastic
mama!
that's you
ma ma
you're here with me now
hush hush hush
not another sound
come rock me to sleep, mama
your skin warms my cold soul.
- you're my mama and you're mine
YOU ARE READING
i'll never be a poet
Poetryand here's the pretentious proof an ongoing anthology of the poetry of nobodi.
