Imaginary Mother
Norwegian Cruise 07-22-2023
On this cruise ship,
it is easy to embrace
the mournful pity
forged by fever and aches.
Everything seems imaginary,
even the postcard
of an apartment
in 19th century, Norway.
Am I dreaming that
in the card’s room, each wall
has three metal bars,
appearing to be
a ladder leading nowhere.
Between fever and chills,
I cough, and my eyes act
as if they don’t want to
allow this picture postcard
into my memory.
Today, my back aches.
My throat is sore.
Do I have the mumps?
Did I have them?
Anyway,
the morning seems
as dark as the postcard
with the iron rungs,
securing the inner
to the outer wall.
Everything is imaginary,
even my mother’s face.
It is wrinkled with concern.
She leans over me,
and I feel the tenderness
of her finger tips.
My headache grows
as reality disappears
like the shadows, while
in the window, the sun
appears to be sinking
into the North Sea.
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