my mother left her hand on the
table for me to eat, my
mother was bread and when she went out to the
street the pigeons ate from her face and her
from her back to her, the men who loved her chewed on her
bread with his teeth, and my mother smiled too when
her boss cut a little piece of her back and
she showed him the sales charts at the weekly meeting,
the world was devouring her little by little
since the world was born, the pets we have
had sniffed her, smelled the bread of her heart and
They bit and my mother didn't scream or say pain, pain,
she did not repeat pain, pain, sitting on a stone
in front of the sea that she loved so much she let
the sirens and the fish ate their feet of bread
And one day as I was leaving for work, my phone rang.
and a voice that I don't remember told me
for her to hurry me up because there were barely a few crumbs left
my mother and when I arrived
her eyes were already closed
and the room smelled like bread.