A new one of mine,after watching Claire Denis' film,
White Material. And thinking about all of us mothers,
and especially, mothers of sons...
(But let there be no room for doubt: my sons know where
they stand on this one. And can´t let mother's day
talk go by without thanking them for whom they have become!)
Mother’s Day, 2011.
My mare and I climb
the last street of slum,
past the smoggy clot
where some boys burn garbage:
a red t-shirt, plastic coke bottles,
around the hill to the top, to the
this little corner of the world.
Suddenly, no more people.
No more yappy yellow mutts at our heels
Just Madja and I
her small ears flicking forward,
backward to capture my voice,
forward again for the perfect canter
the sandy trail coiling around a wall of stone
and pine trees split open near the root
Return through the village
my mare takes careful
baby steps over hardened sandstone.
One small hoof at a time,
she is protecting me
and the foal to be born
when the seasons shift again
toward the longer days,
and again we go
past the spot where the boys
have left their wrinkled pile of rubble
and the yellow mutts return
and the senhoras, arms folded under the
yellow winter sun, arrange their yellow
trash bags all so neatly
for collection day.
A girl with baby in arms,
In last night’s film,
a mother whose son
went up in flame,
history taking its course
like those days we can do nothing
to stop it.
Stony roads, sandy paths
to the top or the botton of the world
Wasteland burning on both sides
and no use trying to stop the boys
once they’ve gone astray