“I don’t like to be lumped in with every woman who wears a scarf on her head.”

I hope and despair at the same moment

My finger is pressing the trigger.

Skin has a memory.

In her eyes there smiles the child she once was.

I put everything I had into this dump.

From now on the mothers will sleep aloneamong the portraits of the deadonly the mothers know where they’ve goneand how the long labour of dyinghad distanced them already from the livingalone from now…

I introduce myself to the world / mixed with my own shadows