Mama, I do not want to eat
and I don't want you to know it.

I am glad you do so well without me
but too bad, fears aren't what stay like rocks.
They breathe like fire and grow like children.
I lost them once and they never come back,
o my poor lost children I still love them!

Mama, I just took a proper shower.
I know I should not be so proud, but
the water was black and so cold and the soap and shampoo were mocking my filthy skin.
I was strong. I am strong.
I am glad you do so well without me.

I was Mother Mary once, you did not know it.
You have lots of grandchildren but I lost all of them so I cannot show you how they have grown like haunted trees and abandoned churches.
You taught me motherly love, Mama,
not how to prove it.

I became a garden but the minerals kept falling from
the pores and eyes. I could not be good soil.
The hibiscus and jasmine and frangipani I wanted to grow
are now as dead and confused as my chest.

My head is one native tomb.
How could I not find a name?

I am doing very well, Mama.

Just that I kept thinking I am at home.