I remember when
my mother lied to me,
and told me she was proud.
I smiled, I'd done well!
My life was worth something.
I look at her now,
cold, breathless, human.
When she told me she was proud,
her eyes had been open,
her legs stretched on the hassock,
her lips forming a small smile.
No she looks like paper,
elegantly formed to resemble life.
nothing moves, nothing sounds.
No birds, no mammals,
Nothing.
I remember her yelling,
her hand smacking my face,
the cold icy voice exposing
me as a disgrace.
I remember that sweet little lie,
and the sky ranges
from white to dark.