Mother Kiss by Vera Ignatowitsch

I am not a silent poet

At the door I look up

half a flight where she looms,

inviting me shockingly

to give her a kiss.

Astonished, I bound

up the steps for this thing

I long for, the velvety cheek

imprinted in baby time.

The kiss barely covers

a sniff when her hand

smashes into my head.

I fly back and down

half a flight, then a full one

down stairs to the basement,

bruised only, not broken

so no one will know.

No one ever knows.

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