THE BUBBLES

the bubbles from that part
of me that remembers
lonely
dark sesame street moments of
our childhood
and perfumes, hey, there is an absent mother
why couldn't i call her just mom
even though she has died
almost thirty years ago.

all of this is not true.
i still call her mom.
but not in front of you
tiny mute thief objects
prickle corny lights
small faces
creepy
faint.

uh
still life