February 13, 2013 § Leave a comment
Bruised portrait of a stunned butterfly at grandmother’s
on the wall, from Cyprus.
I’ve been having these dreams in which memories come back to me
and are mine again.
Your face, bleeding. She is feeding me
nougat to stop me crying.
When we play on the carpets I leave my footprints.
I wake up at strange times; the doors and windows
are in the wrong positions, my bed faces north-north-east, it’s not my room
in sleep nor waking dream, it’s not the taxidermy my mother
brought her home.