I hear my mother’s calls from the garden.
I see her hunched back, dressed in black watering the plants.
Then I look at my legs.
My ankles and legs covered with red spots
many mosquitoes and ants.
I look down at my feet.
They are, maybe I would like it like that,
bonds with the soil.
I feel the energy, the warmth of the soil,
but it is also black.
I look at my mother again.
Now standing but still small.
The gushes of wind play with her black locks.
She approaches me, tells me that the garlic sprouted,
The next moment with lot of effort and scream
I jump and I shove my head into the black soil.
I enjoy as my mouth is filled with it,
and my mother, dressed in black, howls.