the atlas of my mother
At two
I made a map of your hands
the soft crossroads in your palm
divided into lotion smelling fingers
never touching mine
At six
I made a map of our house
the sound of the bottles you tried to hide behind the maryland cookies
the sound of your cigarette burning the bathroom carpet
the sound of you passing out on the living room floor
At fifteen
I made a map of your eyes
the way they slapped me every time I had something to tell
the way they moisted my bed sheet sometime after midnight
the way they never met mine
At twenty
I made a map of your hatred
your long nails leaving purple marks on the same spot on my underarm
your voice screaming how I ruined your life
your words telling me I was impossible to love
At thirty
I make a map of your face
the swollen patches underneath your eyes
the lines of grief across your forhead
the purple stain where your lips divide
the way you fade
and I seal this atlas
with love
Poetry by Lourdes
Read 1982 times
Written on 2006-04-15 at 17:39
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