It’s in hunger
that I write best
about you, mother
when you don’t look
above my shoulder
presentable you are absent
or else you appear
your mad gaze searching
for my readiness to admire
but I was not born
to approve of you, mother.
It’s in hunger
that I remember best
how your love lacked
milk, mother
my mother so called
my property, so proper
beautifully groomed girl
who eyed my teacher after
school hoping he would think
I was your sister
or even your mother.
It’s in hunger
that you wove best
mother, I wish you were
an otter, short-legged
mustached, anything but
this sleek hysterical hyena
who couldn’t swim
only catwalked, no fish
remains for me
you relinquished mother
masked my pleas with a hood.
It’s in hunger you taught me
that less is best
how to sever
love for ever.
(Sabine Huynh, published in the poetry magazine Cyclamens and Swords)