Mother’s Glasses
by Gabriel Muoio

I tried my mother’s glasses once,
when I was little, and saw what
she saw, I thought—the world
was like tears, and a haze of shifting
fog, and life was divided by a
line like some magnetic pole—
I thought it was a border, a kind of
limbo place where things decided
what they were—and what was I then?
Just a blur (poor Mother, dear
weeping woman of sorrows), I was
ascending like a puff of vapour,
though I was distant, and no one saw it,
I was translated too through the polar
channel, what I saw was life and colour,
and I condensed somewhere, at some point—
I am tears, dear Mother, you see
sadness clearly—you laughed for me,
and I love you, though I hate the
demons in you, despite my rage I would
die for you, dear Mother, you see dimly,
and though through tears I see you too,
I see you, Mother, I see you clearly.

 

About the Poet:
Gabriel Muoio is a writer from Western Australia. His poetry often explores the world of birds and nature, as well as metaphysical and supernatural topics like ghosts, death and the afterlife. He’s written two novels, one of which he has made available to read for free on his website, balaramadying.com.

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