My mother was born in a self destructive hurricane,
And she was so fast, that three years later she was eighteen.
Her memory was like a wee bird’s,
And everything and single day were new for her.
She called a bridge a tunnel,
And a dishwasher, a washing machine.
As my mother never remembered the words,
She created her own dictionary,
She gave me names of vegetables,
Such as carrot or chard.
Gradually, her memory became like a wee goldfish’s,
Until one day, she even forgot she was my mother.
Luckily, she reinvented herself,
In who she thought she might have always been.