'I don't give you my breast anymore...'

I don't give you my breast anymore
The apple trees are in blossom for the second time in your life
I lull you to sleep beneath our garden's
first and only Antonovka apple tree
and the juice sloshing around in your baby-bottle
is from that very same tree

Juice from the autumn before last
when we were still one
when I wasn't really a mother yet
and you weren't really a child

Here I want to be
your big sinewy
mother smelling of Antonovka
Really your mother
even though I don't give you my breast anymore
you
really my child