Long Distance

Do all mothers mature to routines of loneliness?
I hear it within you when we speak on telephones
Inane questions spewing out of my alien tongue-
Have you eaten yet?
Are you feeling better?
Do you rest enough?
And your hole voice answer-
Yes.

Ma

A train whistles by Ma
And I stall
Afraid for a moment that another step will forever severe our ties.
Afraid I will erase home
And create instead a hiatus larger than the oceans separating us.
My breaths, this life pawned to you
From which I steal slices when you pretend not to watch
So I can distribute slivers to strangers and strangeness I constantly marry
This breath ma is stale without you
And every morning I must brush twice as hard to make it through the day.

Already I am sure I have no bedroom, no study, no corridors
In the house I willingly left.
Already the terrace which was my favorite place
Seems too high to reach.
And sometimes when you don’t come to the phone
I wonder if I have no lap to rest my head on.

Mathematics

Went out yesterday and got my toes painted the bloodiest red though with winters and snow boots I don’t get to see them, and at home I am always in socks...

The problem is there is no point getting toes painted if you don’t care, is there?
It is then just another excuse to spend hard earned money
Or at the best, another way to occupy another transient moment that escalates a fraction of life.

But if drop by drop is an ocean formed...
Then fraction by fraction by fraction by fraction by fraction by fraction by
It can be hoped life will be swept away too.
It is simple mathematics, and I do believe now, with the rest of wise humanity that the universe is written in a mathematical language.
(It would of course be absurd to write it in verse or even dull prose for that matter).
The problem is mathematics was always too difficult,
So at the first chance I dropped it
Then watched with bewilderment as it dropped me.
Now there are times when I cannot perform simple multiplication nor remember what something divided by something divides as.
It would be funny if it wasn’t so serious (though it still ends up being funny. It is rather amusing to watch every number doze off just when you need an answer).

But anyway, I scraped my nails against a nail this morning (oh, the irony of words!)
And have a pale scar running across my blood toes now...
Thank god for winters I say -
And thank god for socks that hide perfect toes and scarred ones with equal skill.

... And for mathematics which will sweep another fraction off as I take an extra bus to the far corner of the city and wait in a queue for that particular Korean woman I profess to prefer above the others to finish doing what she is doing and pay attention to me and smile at me and invite me to sit down just for a second while she cleans up the mess she created before she can come to me and remove my socks and click her tongue and shake her head and ask what color I would prefer this time and I pick whatever I fancy and she makes small talk about everything she has been making small talks about with other costumers while she absently removes the colors of yesterday with a cotton and strong smelling spirit and just as absently begins to apply the color I have chosen for the day.