Here is my mother.
She is not crying.
She cannot look into the lens
Because the sun is bright.
The woman,
The one my father knows,
Is not here.
She does not come till later.
My mother will get very mad.
Her face will turn red.
And she will throw a shoe.
My father will say nothing.
After a while everyone
Will forget.
Years and years will pass.
My mother will stop mentioning it.
This is me she is carrying.
I am a baby.
She does not know
I will turn out bad.