Another poem entitled, "I Don't Visit My Mother."
I don't visit my mother that often.
Her house is at the end of the world,
always cold, even in Baghdad's summer.
The last time I visited her, she did not say much.
Silence was a stone still weighing heavily on me.
Even her neighbors were silent.
They stared at me, eyes shut.
The wind murmured something I could not understand.
Then the guard at the cemetery extended his hand and said, may
she rest in peace.