When my mother
Was a young girl
Before the War
Reading sad books
By the river
Sometimes, she
Looked up, wisely
But did not dream
The day I would
Be born to her
She who is not
Who she was
Waits to be
Yet she is
Already
Mother
Whose child
Though not yet
Could not be
An other
All at once
I could see
My mother
In eternity
I told her
She always
Would be
The one
Whose son
You see