half a movie.

you remind me of my mother,
the way you fell asleep
when the movie was deceivingly
quiet, and blood began to seep.

my mother always said to me:
yes, a movie, can we watch it together?
then showed me the many films
she took out from queens central library.

but, of course, i picked
none of them (they were all chinese):
"no, this looks pretty bad..."
or "i don't have time."

she always watched them with me,
or, promised to watch them with me,
when i picked the movie (almost never chinese).
then for some reason, she'd fall asleep.

she didn't understand english,
or spanish or french,
but mostly, i think it was because
she didn't understand dark humor at all.

for the first few times,
i tried to wake her; sometimes,
she woke up to look at me,
but never for long.

after that, sighs
then, bitter eyes with sighs
then, hard, darting stares
at the breathing body that didn't care.

but once, i imagine,
all she did was stare
at a breathing body that didn't care;
i don't think she was ever angry at me.