- Vol. 05
You used to sing a song softly as you bathed me and it would mingle with the gurgling, lapping water against the muted green light of the long afternoons of cicadas at their chorus in the shade outside.
Then after lunch you’d lull me to sleep with the ballad of a bird who’d have to fly away one day soon.
Your deep forlorn eyes might not have chosen that life of tall chores of bringing up a child in that small house in a small town. But how well have you sent the swell of your talent to this distant city that never sleeps, yet amidst the noise its music keeps.
Trading the long liquid afternoons and the song of the cicadas for a TV, are you happy now Ma that in it sometimes you see me?