- Vol. 03
- Chapter 06
My Mother lives in a Polaroid
She cannot look me in the eye, as I bury a thumbnail beneath her chin.
Her mouth stays silent, doesn’t wince, whilst her dimpled cheek is ripped and lifted.
I feel her features ruck and pull, their monochrome drawn back to the hairline,
the Polaroid’s waxy veneer teased free, as I tear at her youth and scrape away the years where she had no knowledge of me.
I want to see myself in her.
As if, in some way, peeling her image will bring us closer:
my moon-face framed in the space I made in her.
But only the fault and wreckage remain, and she does not see I’m here.