We were told good night by distant mothers
Bent on realizing their early bird carriers
And we waited at every station of the road
Inside the bed like a squirming worm
Afraid of what waited in the empty dorm
Way more ugly toad than pea in a pod.
With her, I wish not to be so severe
She did what she could, she did good
All considered and I am being sincere.
I could only tell half the height of her
And a quarter of the size of her heart.
Time would come, time with my mother
When me and her should ever part,
Till then there’s a song and it goes like this :
My life often resembled a crowded chart
But all I can remember is the kiss.
Image credit : Edouard Vuillard, In Bed, 1891, Oil on canvas, 73 x 93 cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris
Frédéric Benqué 