You too are not my mother
yet there is on my body
a second navel, a mark,
a closed, healed mouth of a scar
where the pulsing cord was severed
between us finally.
I don’t look at navels often.
I’ve travelled perhaps too far;
sometimes I spot a rampart,
an alien ringed boulevard,
the glint of foreign waters.
And I think of you then.
Of course there is no return;
no-one knows that better than me.
Each spring new flowers, new shoots;
brisk autumns of foreign fruit.
But somewhere a jamun treestill dances in its crushed-fruit skirt.
Mother's Day is being celebrated here in Egypt today. Yasmin deshe yadachar. I am greatly fortunate in that I have more than one mother. Remembering and honouring all the women who grew me up and the places they grew me up in. Happy Mother's Day!