poem 2

I saw the back of my mother's head
in front of me,
but I couldn't see her walking away
because the leaves were above me,
spinning around like a cheap mobile

She placed me
in a pile of leaves,
and left me there

and took a walk

Her legs were stalks
extending from the ground
They uprooted themselves,
leaving behind a trail of torn soil

The leaves broke
inside my mouth,
talking for me,
crinkling like plastic,
crying.

I am lying down
beneath my mother's desk,
looking up at her knees
It encloses me like a cave
because her legs
block the light

Beyond the desktop
she disappears
but I hear
her rhythmic typing
and pretend
that she is talking to me

Candy R. Wei
October 2000