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Poem of the Day: Naoko Fujimoto

 

MOTHER’S LIPS

                      After the Tsunami in Japan

 

You have no father,
my mother said & wiped
my neck with a long
towel; I smelled the lavender
soap: bubbles on her
cheeks: the outline of her
lipstick: dark
purple around her lips;
they were unlike mine; I wanted
hers; I hated the garden
scent; no
lavenders please, I said;
just muddy
bodies
on blue vinyl sheets
at the flower
shop; sand & pebbles filled
my mother’s mouth; I bit
my lip: tasted blood.

 

—previously appeared on Unshod Quills

 

 

Published inPoem of the Day SeriesReading

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