“The Mother” The mother never gazes at her baby She averts her eyes from her baby because she feels that a huge bruise caused by guilt spreads through the face of her baby The mother always escapes from eyes of her baby, not to be caught by guilt that she gave every timidness to her baby, not to be killed by eyes full of tiny hate and approaching torture The mother never gazes at her baby, even if her baby wants the mother's eyes “Dear Beloved One” Instead of loving you, I want to break you by my cracked skin Instead of healing you, I want to torment you by my despairing lips My empty eyes gaze at only your desire Your vulnerable soul pours dry hopes into my veins “Summer Coffee” Summer coffee makes me travel around the velvety night world The scent tastes like daybreak The bitterness sounds like lonesomeness In my mug, coffee sways with the rising sun As if summer tells me that it never sinks, coffee cocoons my space by floating here
Yuu Ikeda is a Japan-based poet. She writes poetry on her website: https://poetryandcoffeedays.wordpress.com/. Her published poems are “On the Bed” in Nymphs, “Seeds” in Tealight Press, “Dawn” in Poetry and Covid, and more. Her Twitter and Instagram handle is @yuunnnn77.