Kawabata

No doubt
the crazy boy thinks
he's having his mother read
some sort of record
of his memories,

something that he wrote himself-
that's what he thinks
he's listening to.

His eyes sparkle
with pride.
His mother has no idea
whether or not he understands
what she's saying,
but every time
she comes to see him
she repeats
the same story,
and she gets better
and better at telling it-
it begins to seem like
she's actually reading a story
of her son's.

She remembers things
she had forgotten.
And the son's memories grow
more beautiful.

The son is drawing
the mother's story out,
helping her,
changing the story-
there's no way
of telling
whose novel it is,

whether it's the mother's
or the son's.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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