my dis-remembered mother

.

My mother was born in a self destructive hurricane,
And she was so fast, that three years later she was eighteen.

Her memory was like a wee bird’s,
And everything and single day were new for her.

She called a bridge a tunnel,
And a dishwasher, a washing machine.

As my mother never remembered the words,
She created her own dictionary,
She gave me names of vegetables,
Such as carrot or chard.

Gradually, her memory became like a wee goldfish’s,
Until one day, she even forgot she was my mother.

Luckily, she reinvented herself,
In who she thought she might have always been.

.

.

.

.

my big black grandmother

.

.

.

My grandmother was very fat
and her presence expanded when anyone got near her.
She was a big personality,
and she walked like an actress.

Her lips were big and red,
and she had a beautiful smile.

She wanted all to worship her
and love her as the mother of the world.
She would take her shoes off
and walk barefoot on the fields.
She would hug the trees and smell the air.

She talked about positive energy,
magic flowers and eternal souls,
about the future and the stars,
about fate and luck.

One day, my grandmother became a trapped crazy mind
in a vegetable body.

She had big blue green eyes,
opened to see, taste and touch.
She spoke binary language,
like computers.

Her body became dry
and smaller and smaller.
She was becoming a baby again.

Suddenly, when she was about the size of a butter bean,
she died.

.

.

.

.

.

my wee blue grandmother

.

.

My grandmother was born at the age of sixty five,
Widow, with two married sons and four grandchildren.

Her eyes were grey,
Like the tint of her life.

My grandmother didn’t live in the present,
as her mind was the book of all her past lives,
Which she shared with whoever sat down to listen.

She wanted more,
but to live,
as for her, she was born dying.

.

.

.

.