LIVING IN THE SURREAL WITH ALOIS

LIVING IN THE SURREAL WITH ALOIS

LIVING IN THE SURREAL WITH ALOIS

my mother knocks on the side of her head,
still active inside her, still vital
her need to blame, her need to name,
to explain away the confusion she wakes to
 
my mother makes a tight, knuckled knot of her hand
knocks on the side of her head
it‘s in there she says, the tumour
red and hard and the size of my fist
it makes me forget, they told me it‘s there
deep in my brain like the yolk in an egg
they can’t get it out without killing me
do you think they will kill me, it makes me forget
why can’t I forget that it’s there why can’t I forget to forget
she knocks on the side of her head as if
someone might answer, as if someone might open
the door to her brain she knocks she knocks but nobody’s home
she’s even forgotten my name I am visitor I am the one to complain to
I am the one who is helpless as her she knocks she knocks
on the side of her head I imagine the lump she imagines
inside of her head I imagine it shrinking she knocks
on the side of her head and it falls out her ear
rolls like a marble look I tell her it’s gone it fell out your ear
rolled under the table got ate by the cat she laughs was it grey
no I say it was black, black as the darkness black as the devil
a right bad lot but he swallowed it up then he swallowed a rat
and she laughs I remember she says it was black, black as the darkness
but he swallowed it up and she sleeps I untangle her fingers
smooth out her hand and she sleeps and I drive
through the rain through the night-time
and the hedgerow disgorges a cat that stands
in the glare of the headlights and I stop
to salute it; to grant it safe passage home