my mother’s life

true verse fable

potato at heart. courtesy of elena giambi bonacci

I can start since when she was born,
the curse through which she entered life,
telling her childhood
as in a dream,
made of tiny and trifling things.

Then, I can tell you
how she met my father,
as in a tragedy.

Then our birth,
trickling in,
or better
two too close,
one too far,
as a spite
from a jealous god.

I can conclude with
the time of now
when she loses balance,
falls and raises up
forgets things and then remembers them.
Again.
Always.
I ca go on
telling
she is
my daughter.