Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Véronique Pittolo

In the ritual of Mother’s Day

In the ritual of Mother’s Day, clothes are ironed, faces made attractive, family united, nothing dramatic. Home life is reduced to meals and times, a hem that’s waiting to be turned. Everyone survives between four walls, it isn’t much, yet for a few it means a lot, the child as an extension of the mother, scion of the father. In spite of everything, they’ll make him into someone. The girl will want to compensate for every woman’s sacrifice. While her mother cooks the meal she sees her tiredness, by evening, in the kitchen. She’d like to open up the wound, observe the duckling’s wing and lay it gently on the ground.
 
If you’re the ugly one, you’ll see your family from the outside.

Voor het moederdagritueel

Voor het moederdagritueel zijn de kleren gestreken, de gezichten mooi gemaakt, dan is de familie verenigd, nooit episch. Het huiselijke leven beperkt zich tot maaltijden, tijdschema’s, zoompjes die wachten. Elk leeft tussen vier muren voort, dat is weinig maar veel voor een klein aantal, het kind als verlengstuk van de moeder, stekje van de vader. Ze zullen er ondanks alles iemand van maken. Het meisje wil de offers van alle vrouwen vergoeden. Terwijl haar moeder het eten bereidt, observeert ze haar vermoeidheid, ’s avonds, in de keuken. Ze wil de wond opensnijden, de vleugel van het eendje observeren en het terugzetten op de grond.
 
Als u de slechterik bent, kijkt u naar uw familie van buitenaf.

Dans le rituel de la fête des mères, les vêtements sont repassés, les visages, jolis, la famille unie, jamais épique. La vie domestique est reléguée aux repas, horaires, ourlets qui attendent. Chacun survit entre quatre murs, c’est peu et beaucoup pour un petit nombre, l’enfant comme extension de la mère, bourgeon coupé du père. On en fera quelqu’un, malgré tout. La jeune fille voudra compenser les sacrifices de toutes les femmes. Pendant que sa mère prépare le repas, elle observe sa fatigue, le soir, dans la cuisine. Elle voudra ouvrir la plaie, observer l’aile du petit canard, le reposer sur le sol.
 
Si vous êtes le vilain, vous verrez  votre famille de l’extérieur.
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In the ritual of Mother’s Day

In the ritual of Mother’s Day, clothes are ironed, faces made attractive, family united, nothing dramatic. Home life is reduced to meals and times, a hem that’s waiting to be turned. Everyone survives between four walls, it isn’t much, yet for a few it means a lot, the child as an extension of the mother, scion of the father. In spite of everything, they’ll make him into someone. The girl will want to compensate for every woman’s sacrifice. While her mother cooks the meal she sees her tiredness, by evening, in the kitchen. She’d like to open up the wound, observe the duckling’s wing and lay it gently on the ground.
 
If you’re the ugly one, you’ll see your family from the outside.

In the ritual of Mother’s Day

In the ritual of Mother’s Day, clothes are ironed, faces made attractive, family united, nothing dramatic. Home life is reduced to meals and times, a hem that’s waiting to be turned. Everyone survives between four walls, it isn’t much, yet for a few it means a lot, the child as an extension of the mother, scion of the father. In spite of everything, they’ll make him into someone. The girl will want to compensate for every woman’s sacrifice. While her mother cooks the meal she sees her tiredness, by evening, in the kitchen. She’d like to open up the wound, observe the duckling’s wing and lay it gently on the ground.
 
If you’re the ugly one, you’ll see your family from the outside.
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Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
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