Mother of Crimes

I hate them

so I killed them…

four burdens.

Three sons who took my money

repaying me with incest

love for their sister.

I’m tired of being

a mother

a wife.

The shame, the guilt

for my offspring’s fault

passed to me,

the mother,

the carrier of the rotten fruits.

Have they forgotten

My husband’s seed,

where the flaw usually came from?

I’m tired of being a woman;

so I quitted

The despised role,

Ending it

with my children’s death,

a poison on their food.

My ungrateful boys,

my lascivious girl,

on the dining area sat

pale as ashes, cold as ice.

And my husband, I put

a mark on his name—

SHAME.

And killed his pride.

Regrets are nothing to me now.

I am too kind for a murderer,

I am a cannibal.

Their death tokens

(clam shell, betel nut, buyo leaf, tobacco)

my mouth chews

every morning, every afternoon.

I spit them

As passionately as my contempt

for my children’s misbehavior.

If this passion leads me to hell

and live with Satan,

then I’ll chew mama with him.

Tags: kring, mother of crimes, mythopoem, poetry