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 from her
from her back from her, the men who loved her chewed her
bread with teeth, and my mother smiled too when
her boss cut off 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,
the pets we have
they sniffed at her, they smelled the bread from her heart and
they bit and my mother did not scream or say pain, pain,
she did not repeat pain, pain, sitting on a stone
facing the sea that she loved so much she let
the mermaids and the fish ate from their feet of bread
And one day, while I was going to work, my phone rang.
and a voice that I don't remember told me
for her to hurry me because there were barely a few crumbs left
my mother and when I arrived
her eyes were already closed
and the room smelled of bread.