I am, finally, just like my mother.
Coffee carries water and I don't eat
until noon. We wear our bangs the
same, thinned and fanned out like
a brown parasol. Just an egg, please.
Toast, sure. The raspberry jam. The
sunny spot, I click red nails to key-
board, I care enough but very little.
I flick the curl from my eye, I wear
glasses. When I think about death,
I don't fear my own. It's others; I don't
want to miss you. I want to be a family
with long summers and warm mornings
the house plants growing, the evenings
full of hot winds. When I think of
my life, I think of my mother, would
she smile knowing how much and
how little I care? How changed I am,
and yet, the same, the same, as every
iteration of us, every evolution surely,
graciously became. Mama says we
all have the same eyes, she says sisters
are like leaves on a tree.
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