In black and white

I’m looking at a picture of my mother

She was happy, she must have been 3 years old

She was holding a doll in her bosom

The most desired present

It was her birthday party

A faded photo in black and white

I’m looking at my mother at those times and I recognise

The same smile as mine

I just think of how many times I felt her distant

I just think of how many times…

I would like to have talked to her about me

To at least ask her about the reason

For the long and hostile silence and the moments of carelessness

Every time I showed myself inflexible, unapproachable and fierce

Intimately ready for a battle, afraid of a silly rivalry

I’m looking at a picture of my mother

She was happy, she must have been 20 years old

Her hair gathered up in a silk foulard

And a light-headed look

Neat view of a radiant Catania

I’m scanning it in every detail and I find