III

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.

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