Mothers' Faces From Behind The Jars Poem by Silivester Kiik

In my childhood home
my mum would bring me a jar of water
every time my tongue turned to the clouds.

An old jar sat on the ground
and moss adorned its shape
but I looked closer
-Mum's face was clearly legible.

I raised my head higher and higher
the more the urn sank
and I couldn't draw it in my mind.

I keep my thirst and mum's gaze
this will be a grain of prayer forever
because we are still as we were
leaning on the sun
and speckled on your body.

Atambua,10 March 2024