Visits Poem by Iman Mersal
Visits
My dead mother visits me
frequently in dreams.
Sometimes she cleans my nose
of schoolyard dust.
Other times she gathers my hair
with the violence of a pair of hands
accustomed to braiding a girl.
She will pay no attention
to the scissors
that dominated my hair,
or its split ends.
You too
can stall the world at the moment of your death.
And I will have enough time to warn you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 1:21:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
