Mother's Day

The night before Mother’s Day,  
he signed the blank  
card and wrote a note before  
placing it on mother’s pillow.  
She was out, and we had  
the house to ourselves.  
 
I opened the note.  
“Your daughter’s beauty is your gift to me.  
As her mother, you’ve given much more than you should.  
I’ll treasure her and am thankful for your trust.”    
 
I signed the card and added,  
“Thank you for my life.”  
 
Then I placed the card back on mother’s pillow  
before turning to unwrap myself as a handmade  
gift from my mother. In the dim light of her bedroom,  
I could see his eyes wash over the length of me.  
 
As the daughter of a strong woman, I was  
my own person able to determine the path of my life.  
 
The acts that followed had been  
predestined by our species and  
well-rehearsed in our minds.  
Our hesitation was not for fear but the  
wish that those moments would last forever.  
 
In the reflection of mother’s dresser mirror  
I glimpsed our embrace, two children  
on paths we could not know or understand,  
carrying only the gifts our mothers had left for us.