mother, am i
you in the cosmos of time,
you in the twin of a wink of
Am I you pretending to be free?
Or am I free to attempt to be you?
And if it seems that I avoid you,
is it because of the memory long forgotten
of how you tried, but failed, to
make me you?
It cannot be, you see.
I am far too much like you
to even want to become you.
And you are too different from me,
to even understand that lost in this poem,
in the lyrics of a sparrow’s silent song,
is the hurtful yearning to be free,
to be me,
without the fear, the sadness,
and the guiltÂ of you.