Les Fleurs du Bonheur

And the poet asked “Who will buy the garden’s sweet shivers? Who will buy the blissful mirth on dawn’s smiling lips?”
I listened to how my mother sang these lines, and for a moment I saw the young girl she was. She was too young to be a mother. Forever. But she was already one. Too late. How do one pay for someone’s lost days?

PRISON

Chained up, yes.
I was badly chained up
So much so
That it bled.

Blood, 
It kept flowing
Like ketchup from a
Healthy sandwich.
Like mayonnaise.

I was locked up
In the prison
Of my Body.

Who is this I?
Who am I?
I don’t know.
나도 몰라 
But I know
That
I am in Prison.

©