Imagine what she must have been—
the gap still between her teeth and hopeful.
The reality of the future still foggy and at bay
in the burgundy of her eyes, some cascading
emerald light at the horizon of herself.
She has just become a mother, still with enough
of herself to give one daughter. Happiness
close enough to touch like god’s brown face
—from “My Mother at Twenty-One” by E. Hughes