Hug me closely, mum,
hug me to your bosom.
I lowered my guard –oh my sweet mummy-
in the round and muffled time
of a large bookshop.
It’s there that I saw –oh mum, what a dismay!-
the sorrow roaming
between metal bookshelves.
A tired-pupiled
unfocused young woman
projected all around
heavy beams of breathlessness.
She carried in her womb a child,
an unwieldy saddlebag.
I immediately understood –oh mum, don’t ask me why-
that that was my child.
I introduced myself to her,
for a long time we talked:
we were looking for the same book.
Then we left together,
empty-handed.
Suspecting that you feel the same. Bologna, 23rd of March 2001
hug me to your bosom.
I lowered my guard –oh my sweet mummy-
in the round and muffled time
of a large bookshop.
It’s there that I saw –oh mum, what a dismay!-
the sorrow roaming
between metal bookshelves.
A tired-pupiled
unfocused young woman
projected all around
heavy beams of breathlessness.
She carried in her womb a child,
an unwieldy saddlebag.
I immediately understood –oh mum, don’t ask me why-
that that was my child.
I introduced myself to her,
for a long time we talked:
we were looking for the same book.
Then we left together,
empty-handed.
Suspecting that you feel the same. Bologna, 23rd of March 2001
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