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2. Inspirerad av A Mother in a Refugee Camp by Chinua Achebe

En mamma i ett flyktingläger
Ingen Madonna och barnet kunde röra
hennes ömhet för hennes son,
som hon snart måste måste glömma.

Luften var tung
med lukt av diarré,
otvättade barn med synliga revben,
uttorkad bak,
som vaggar med ansträngda steg
under uppblåsta magar.

I lägret, hade andra mammor slutat bry sig,
men inte den här mamman,
som med ett spökleende
döljer tänderna
och en mammas stolthet.

Hon hade badat honom.
gnuggat hans skinn
med valkig handflata.

Hon tog fram en trasig kam
och kammade hans svartskalle.

Innan hans frukost och skola,
gjorde hon det till en rutin,
som att kratta höstlöv
på ett liten grav.
+++

A Mother in a Refugee Camp
No Madonna and Child could touch/Her tenderness for a son
She soon would have to forget….
The air was heavy with odors of diarrhea,
Of unwashed children with washed-out ribs
And dried-up bottoms waddling in labored steps Behind blown-empty bellies.
Other mothers there Had long ceased to care, but not this one:
She held a ghost-smile between her teeth,
And in her eyes the memory
Of a mother's pride…. She had bathed him
And rubbed him down with bare palms.
She took from their bundle of possessions/A broken comb and combed
The rust-colored hair left on his skull
And then—humming in her eyes—began carefully to part it.
In their former life this was perhaps
A little daily act of no consequence
Before his breakfast and school; now she did it Like putting flowers on a tiny
grave.




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Läst 15 gånger
Publicerad 2021-10-24 15:10



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