JOHN MOLE

The Gift

Over and over again
I have lived this,
our parting
at the end of it,
and still I marvel
at her tenderness,
the last gift
of a mother to her son,
behind the clouded
oxygen mask
they propped her up
to look out from
as forty years before
she'd stood at the window
watching me leave for school
and I'd turned back
to wave, so carefully
wrapped for winter,
with my breath
already clouding
in the early light.

Oana Ionescu

John Mole
 

Darul

Am trait-o
iar si iar,
despartirea noastra
de la final,
si inca ma mai minunez
de gingasia ei,
cel din urma dar
al unei mame pentru fiul ei,
dincolo de masca
aburita de oxigen
o sustineau
ca sa priveasca afara
asa cum cu patruzeci de ani in urma
statuse la fereastra
privindu-ma plecand spre scoala
si eu ma intorsesem
sa-i fac cu mana, atat de bine
infofolit de iarna,
cu rasuflarea
prefacuta-n abur
in lumina zorilor.