by Imelda Morales

My mother lost me one day
There at the cloth shop
She was buying textile for my first uniform
She had all the shades and textures on her lap

After some time, she suddenly remembered
That she brought her daughter along
So she called my name and looked for me
Tearfully she searched hard and long

She shouted at the store clerk
She called and screamed at the cop
She called my father, she called her mother
She even harassed the gathering mob

All that racket woke me
Up from beneath the cloth heap
For there I found among fresh fabrics
A wonderfully warm place to sleep

My mother was happy, no, I think she’s mad
I really don’t get her sometimes
She looked sheepishly at everyone else
But stared at me with her piercing black eyes