Your face is a blur,

you are out of the picture

I am in my mother’s arms,

my twin brother in her other
the slumped red tomato

is defeated, bleeding seeds

like my mother’s tears,

as it slides down the front
of her pink flowered

dressing gown,

and I whisper,

touching her face
(did it hurt?)

through her tears she says      no

the plate didn’t hit me

it lies unbroken on the carpet 
slimed with the traces

of your uneaten dinner

I lay my cheek against her chest

and do not forget do not forget do not forget.