For Mother
Umberto (Poli) Saba
1900–1907
Mother, there’s a tedium today,
some sadness that’s got into everything,
even an ambitious man’s dreams
show signs of a slow despair.
Mother, try loving
your self-despising son
on a day he’s alone
and overcome with grief.
It’s a holiday. Crowds
fill up the street
under an overcast
whose wind destroys
the infant flowers
and slaps the river yellow…
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