Mother always said
"Finish your food, every last grain,
or you'll be shorter than grandpa's cane."
White specks sprinkled the corners of my smiling lips,
gleaming in the light as I watched the shadows
under her eyes fade.
Oblivious to her smirk
as I licked clean my plate.
Mother knows best, I knew for sure.
So I trusted Mother,
Mother never lies.

I'd asked Mother
why we no longer ate meat.
"I'm sick of having porridge!",
I would whine at her feet.
Mother was barely visible
with only dim candle flames
to make out her shape.
The light bulbs were broken, she had said.
Vanilla fragrance wafting through the air
couldn't mask the pungent odour of her hair.
Showering too, had become rare.
"Meat's not healthy."
Mother absently replied.
And I believed Mother,
Mother never lies.

Mother rarely came home anymore.
When I'd asked her why, she failed to respond.
The days when I'd see her,
she barely talked,
barely ate and barely walked.
Smashed glass bottles littered the floor,
reflecting light from the blazing hot sun.
One day, Mother cracked and screamed
"STOP TALKING YOU BRAT,
my head's throbbing like crazy.
Just shut up and I'll stay home tomorrow."
Whether I bought it, I wasn't sure.

Mother was back to normal at last.
Her smile resembled that of a flight attendant
and her style was worthy of being plagiarised.
Even though her eyes were rose bandung-filled
and her once lush hair was growing thin,
Mother looked happy, once again.
Every morning, Mother would look
down at my stunted self and
with indisputable confidence say
"Everything's great. Everything's great."
Mother is right, I would think.
Mother never lies,
right?

So why did she die?

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Author's Note: Sorry I've been gone for so long :(
I actually got the chance to attend some creative arts programme thing by sending in my portfolio and I feel like my poems have gotten much better, soooo expect some improvement HAHAH
(Don't expect too much though, please)