rehash the spring

As the minutes moved on offset by the seconds
I sat still in a catatonic state like
In my green IKEA chair
Listening how the outside stairs augmented the voice of a child no more than 3
Talking with its voice box some jibberish
Unable to regulate it
Obviously under the influence
Of an echo
How loud a child can sound
An ever present cry across the eras
Who next will ponder
On that
And then
Propelled by a dormant nag to clean my dormitory
I went dust bunny hunting
I even lay on the parquetry or what passes off as that these days in Sweden
To secure the layers of dust
Be all sucked by the old German noose
Then a memory happened
Tijuana early 70’s
Ave. Negrete y Díaz Mirón (4ta)
Where was I on my way?
I saw my mother mopping the floor of a room.
Till this day I assume it was her apartment.
We met eye to eye
Not as mother and child but as individuals first
Then the hoopla of a mother and son happened
I was excited
Today I wonder
How did I knew she was my mother?
The baggage sits hard

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