C/H

27.

We’ve been expecting you

All of us

Had chosen your welcome gifts

Fluffy hugs and moisty kisses

The plane had almost crashed

Almost

Had laid down on the airport runway

As if on froth

We’re on a truce with every God

Cerebral hypoxia

Nothing could have gone wrong

With the exception of our flowery expectation

Smoking our way through

Tiny bits of information

Scrolling down our cell phones

No news would be welcome

In the end all hope was dashed

An edge

The end of a crucial subway

A teary cloth

Walking through fridges filled with wizened fruity tartelletes

I’m counting twenty seven mothers, so far