Reveal [Day 24]

The incessant cries of a mother on forgetting her only child:
don’t tell her life belongs to the heavens, she’s not even
begun to realise of how empty her house is when she is
alone; don’t tell her there will be others who will take her
in their comfort when she is old, how her man will be her
man when she isn’t his woman; don’t tell her they will
remember her son a martyr when he died of his own
forgetfulness, mistakes, lies, she’ll begin to think of the
dreams she’s going to have to forget; don’t tell her that
the little boy left himself behind in some ways, for if that
is so, why does she look at his existence in distaste?;
don’t tell her the people he used to be, the people he
would’ve been, the people he could’ve been, for she
knows of it, and she always will, because for a mother,
her child is never dead- not really- until she herself is
no longer the mother the dead child calls to in the morning
for breakfast, at noon for lunch, in the night for comfort;
forget about her, don’t tell her anything:
she is no longer who anyone could be.


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