Belgium & Rose Tears. (Prose Poem)

I was fifteen then,
and Belgium was beautiful.

My mothers apartment
happened to be located between
the two rivers of Liege,
with a perfect view from the balcony.

One could see the bridge, cafes,
and the many different boats
gliding across the grey waters.

My eyes were not occupied
with such sights when Chantal,
my mother, took to her guilt
with a glass of dry gin.

It was strange to see her
in that condition; what I mean
is, she was not lashing out,
which is what I was used to.

She sat in her floral couch,
crying in silence, looking to me
for an answer. To what,
I might never know.


      "Lee, when I was sick as a little girl
      my father would buy a small cake,
      and pour milk over it- so I could
      swallow it, my throat was.. what's
      the word for it again?"

          "Sore?"


She was silent for a moment,
then barely nodded, sniffling.


      "You know, its the only memory
      I have of him, thats good..."
 
      "Why doesn't he answer my letters?
      Why does he send back my gifts Lee?
      Why?"


I stood there, unable to answer,
feeling uncomfortable since
I was used to avoiding her
when she got in such a state.
Memory recalled how unstable she is
at such moments.

She so desperately wanted me to
show some sort of affection.

She needed comfort, and I trembled,
tempted to turn away and leave; but
my shaky arms embraced her slowly,
taking a seat by her, letting her sway
in my arms.

A few minutes later she pulled away
and asked me to bring her a blanket.
After that she laid out right there
on that old thing, covered herself
and asked that I leave her in peace.

I started on my way to a cafe, her voice
paused me a moment,


      "Lee, thank you... so much,
      I... I'm sorry."

          "It's ok mamman, it's ok."