Anak

Ibu lupa bertanya pada anak
apakah anak sudah makan.
Sudahkah anak merasa kenyang.
Apakah anak makan pepesan.
Atau lauk semalam—
tak terbuang.

Ibu luput bertanya pada anak
apa kabarmu di sekolah.
Apakah kamu punya teman.
Apakah ada yang dengar
saat kamu berkeluh kesah.
Apa gurumu
menciptakan nyaman.

Ibu abai bertanya pada anak
apakah ia kesepian,
saat ibu berkurung di kamar,
atau saat ibu gemetaran,
karena isi kepala ibu—
bikin gentar.
Bayang-bayang lalu lalang,
berbisik hingar bingar.

Ibu lupa.

Ibu lupa bertanya.

Ibu lupa bertanya pada diri sendiri, nak.
Apakah ibu punya anak.
Apakah kamu ada, nak.

Ibu lupa
rahim ibu kosong.

Takut kamu lahir, nak.

Takut kamu lahir,

lalu ibu lupa

lalu ibu lupa

lalu ibu lupa

lalu ibu—

Child

Mama forgot to ask you, child—
did you eat,
were you full,
did you taste the steamed fish,
or last night’s meal—
left to rot.

Mama missed asking you, child—
how was school
did you make friends,
Was there someone who listened
your voice splinter,
if your teacher
made you feel safe.

Mama failed to ask you, child—
were you lonely
when I locked myself in my room?
Or when I trembled,
because my own thoughts—
made me quake,
shadows swarming,
whispers screaming.

Mama forgot.

Mama forgot to ask.

Mama forgot to ask herself:
Do I have a child?
Are you even there, my love?

Mama forgot—
this hollow womb of mine.

Afraid you’d be born, child.

Afraid you’d be born,

then Mama forgot

then Mama forgot

then Mama forgot—

then I—