(My mother and I on the picture.)
Bed, table and wardrobe as tubby icicles,
memories dusting on them as snow-particles,
whitely effaced mirrors and muffled shadows,
(she looks for a way to cheat the gallows,)
the lack of presence creates an early winter,
she lingers in the room as a frozen whisper,
the plush-animals watch her as glass-eyed ghosts,
the ice-cream carpet keeps the unforgettable jokes.
The mother let her child go out into the world.