TO MY MOTHER
torn from stones leading
as thorns in the flesh
between the pile of images
vague rustle of expectation
you will not change under the light
white at the bottom of your sky
me I feel in my blood
the dust of your deserts
the sad refrains of women in black
and the tears of
generations and you still feel the old
agony
and the desperate pain
your father.
Giulia
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