Mom, I am your copy
Do you see?
The face, the eyes, the nose, the mouth
even a little gap
separate my front of teeth
Mom, I am your copy
You do not see?
The arm, the leg, the hand, the feet
even a tiny corn with sharp pain
between a couple of toes
Mom, I am your copy
Why don’t you like to see?
The smile, step, swallow, sleep
speaking different words
with the same voice
When my feet were only four
You gave me size seven
When my breasts were getting bigger
You wrapped my chest in bandage
You are my Mon, aren’t you?
I learned cooking from you
But the taste wasn’t what you wished
I learned sewing from you
But the style wasn’t what you dreamed
You are my Mom, aren’t you?
I got my first kiss from a man
You lost sleep the whole night
You were shamed of a condom in my hand
I am not your copy
You are still my Mom, aren’t you?
Mom, when I left
the wind blowing your grey hair
the deep lines cross your forehead
the tears hung in the corner of your eyes
I don’t want to be your copy next time
Mom, I can’t give you a conclusion
Just like I can’t give me
I am your copy
I am not your copy
Mom, do you want to see？
The Pacific Ocean is between us
――You never know
Just ask me over and over―
When will you be back to see me?
When will you be back to see me?
