Äiti

Her flesh no longer malleable,
her thoughts crushed into the pavement
no more distinguishable
from the soft unearthed creases of the mattress.
There is no colour
to describe the daggers she holds
and there is no shape
that describes the way she dissects.
The way she unassumably,
unknowingly

consumes me.

So while she talks about her own conspiracy theory,
and silently rages a war against
her own domestic demons,
and while she drowns herself in past exorcisms ,

I weep.

I weep, because she does not see her beauty,
her historical beauty
her compassion,
her gems.

She used to say there were three pieces of her heart.
And she asked if we knew what they were,
as if we didn't already know the answer.

It is truth,
she said.

she has forgotten,
I have too.
during the post-day heaves,
solemnly blinking,
I try to remember.
And I try to remember

My beauty from her ugly past.