Memories cling like resin to my tidy life:
The mole on mama’s chin;
Bangs that landed two inches above her brow
A temper that flashed when I rubbed her the wrong way
She is attached to me by an umbilical of wounds.
The white dress she stitched for my Phi Mu Pledge Dance
The goodbye she waved to the back of a Greyhound bus
“I wrote you everyday in my mind” she scrawled on that last birthday card.
A single ovary produced a daughter who never bore fruit.
Who left her never to return.
More than a container of seeds.
I trace the lines on my palm and the furrow between my brow.
I revisit scars that map a lifetime.
I touch the mole on my chin.
Once removed only to return.