Mother and Child

Mother and Child

We’re all dreamers;

we don’t know who we are.

Some machine made us;

machine of the world, the constricting family.

Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.

We dream; we don’t remember.

Machine of the family: dark fur, forests of the mother’s body.

Machine of the mother: white city inside her.

And before that: earth and water.

Moss between rocks, pieces of leaves and grass.

And before, cells in a great darkness.

And before that, the veiled world.

This is why you were born: to silence me.

Cells of my mother and father, it is your turnto be pivotal, to be the masterpiece.

I improvised; I never remembered.

Now it’s your turn to be driven;

you’re the one who demands to know:Why do I suffer?

Why am I ignorant?Cells in a great darkness.

Some machine made us;it is your turn to address it, to go back askingwhat am I for?

What am I for?

(Louise Glück)