My Fame

I am your famous mother
breaking
arching
striving to blow
and in moments
I was the most famous and successful of them
and they ate me, like the vaginal juices of the original sin
till I withered like an antiquated Marilyn Monroe
for whom people could laugh at
and make jokes about my big arse
and the sagging boobs
that had nursed you
and the hide
that hid
the fact that I had grossed.

And you being you
and so beautiful so pure
both begged me to stop being famous
and just become your mother
and that one day
I sat still under the jackass tree
I looked for a moment
one longer than your moment
and realised that my moment would pass
and that you
would not look at my art
in a museum and say: "that was my mother"
but that, that was my art.

And now,
my art has become you
my work,
your work
my joy, your love
and both your hands
are still tiny
and I am still famous
famous mother
who has famous eyes
and a famourous child.