To Mother (And Her Dusty Floor)

it was me in anger
who cut your favorite plant
in your garden
and i remember that out of
your anger too
for the love of that flower
you whipped me hard with
a guava stick which until
now sticks in my mind like
Epoxy.

you died without having felt
love perhaps,
and i still remember whatever
pains you have.

i may have turned sour too and
promised to work it with life on
my own,
determined to rise from your ashes
stronger than our broken dreams
put together like a jigsaw puzzle
on the dusty floor.