top of page



My father hates his mother. 

When I was younger,

I looked like my mother. 

My mother is beautiful…

but she looks more like her father. 

I look more like my father now too. 

My father looks like his mother.


My father hates his mother. 

Either he hated whom she became,

or he hated her soul. 

I only knew whom she became,

and hated her too—

because I loved my father.


My father has beautiful eyes. 

Sometimes I think he doesn’t

deserve them—

he is not proud enough of them. 

I think he got these

from his mother too. 


My father’s mother

used to be beautiful. 

She smiled a lot. 

In pictures. 

She had a beautiful smile. 

When my father speaks of her,

she is not smiling. 

When I remember her,

she is smiling. 

But she was old. 

And she looked tired.


(Royalty-free image)

bottom of page