Of Mother Among Other Things.

I look up
search for traces
of letters dropping to the ground
I collect the cigarette ash
Smell it.
It has left a stain
on the mosaic


I watch the Tea
boiling with a comfort
that I wont allow it
to spill out.
It drops
staring at me
with no grudge
It burns
I waste.

I call my mother.
To see a reflection
of myself
beyond words.