Translated…
Maybe, it’s because my mother did want me to be troubled, to run to and from on the weekends and the holidays, one day, she’d fallen asleep, and never woke up again, severed my worries of my own family, and, severed my passageway back toward home too.
From before, I’d heard, that yam leaves is good for lowering the blood pressures, I’d especially planted a few casings of the leave on the roof of my place, and every time I’d gone back to my mother’s to visit, I’d always picked a few bags’ worth to bring to her. And now, the yam leaves are flourishing, it’s just that my mother will never get to taste it again, and, the yam leaves now, served as a reminder of me, not having my mother anymore, and, I’d decided, to let the plants just live and die on their own now!
That telephone number I’d known by heart, that I’d often used, to ask my mother if she’s eaten yet, or if she’s dressed warmly enough, had become, etched, in my mind intimately, I saw, dumbfounded, hoping, that this set of digits can, reach up to the heavens somehow, just allow me to talk to her, hear her laughter, even if it’s just, another “hello”.
I’d set up a date, to meet with my younger sister back at my parents’ house, to sort through her belongings, every cloth item, every purse, bag, shoes, each one, with a different story to tell. My youngest sister is hilarious, all of those memories of the past, after her description, became extremely comical, and, everybody started laughing hard over it; I think, this, is my youngest sister’s heart, allowing us all, to laugh off that scent of sorrow, that scent of loss, from missing our mothers. And, we’d all agreed, and acted all in synchrony, we’d not cried, so our mother can leave with ease.
not my photograph…
On my mother’s funeral, I looked at her face, she looked, very sound asleep, and, I’d wanted to, holler out loud to her, to wake her up, but I’d worried, that she may not leave this world with the ease she should, and so, I can only, stare at her, through my tear-filled eyes, with my hands folded together, hoped, that she’s having one good dream right after the next, to walk on.
Oh, how I hope, my mother could, come to me in my dreams, and when I head home, as I pressed down on the doorbell, I can hear her, asking from the inside, “Who is it?”, and I’d gotten the chance to holler aloud, “Mom, it’s me, I’d brought some yam leaves back for you!”
But, this, is a dream that this woman will never get to live again, because her mother has passed on, and, the woman still missed her mother so, and, because losing a parent is very harsh, no matter how old you get, and it’ll take this woman some time, to finally walk out from the loss of her mother…
Life, the Obstacle Course 