La Canción Que Te Debo

(a jersey of foillot, my mother.)

My amazing country girl,
My wild bread, my barn,
My dusty blackberry,
My ancient oak, my pasture,
My five cardinal points,
My tough wheel, my long beam,
My scrappy dog, my filly,
My sweet lightning, my downpour,
My cheerful thirst, my spring,
My soft milk, my hat.

My strict citizen,
My blackboard and my writing,
My alphabet, my letters,
My calling and my urgency,
My poisoned freedom,
My premature adventure,
My complicated walk, my little shade,
My vague grief, my sewing,
My resemblance, my distance,
My commitment and my height.

Since I’m made of your wood
And this song I owe you
I wanted to write it in spring
When I grow, my mother.

There’s so much to tell you,
There’s so much world I owe you,
So many carnations I went to find you
And so many nettles I bring you.

My sunflower, my invulnerable,
My clear book, my food,
My evening consistency,
My wicked tear, my touch,
My earth-shattering quake,
My double pride, my joy,
My supportive walk,
My loud and bloody heart,
My solitude and my revenge,
My rebellion and my sustenance.

My unforgettable sticky one,
My teacher, my tyrant,
My complicated defender,
My dangerous blowgun,
My unique hidden ally,
My most famous courtesan,
My secret love, my scandalous,
My global devotion, my little one,
My protected one, my conscience,
My hardworking, my lazy.

There’s so much to tell you,
There’s so much world I owe you,
So many carnations I went to find you
And so many nettles I bring you.

Since I’m made of your wood
And this song I owe you
I wanted to write it in spring
When I grow, my mother.