¿Cómo se siente?

Amen, says the Christian, a good man, my father,

Before his bastard

Child was born, wedlock wrapped around my waist like a

Dark horse’s toothsome restraint.

Entitled to only your ethereal words through postcards and candy, tell me, do you

Flinch when you see me now? Does your identity

Glitch when your second child reveals any piece of

Herself to you? Do you see anything of yourself

In me, or am I just my mother’s baby, a

Johnson, not quite a Gonzales? Never mind the

Kaleidoscope of your epigenetics, written like a story on my DNA,

Lessons to be learned, pain to be felt, colors to be seen.

My memories are yours, but somehow you are not among them. My

Numbered fingers can display how many times I’ve seen you. Does my

Obstinance toward authority disturb you? Or does it reassure you that your

Parenting wouldn’t have stood a chance anyway? That my

Questions would have out-answered your responses, and my

Relentlessness would have calcified your standards into stalactites.

Self-sown by seed, and estranged from you unwittingly, do you wish you could know me?

Truthfully, when we first met, did you regret every moment of your existence

Untouched by my hands and feet and laugh? Have you unraveled the grief,

Ventured into the galaxy of what we could not have? Do you

Wonder, “What made her wise?” when you look into my eyes? Do you see the

Xylophone of my heart, each key tied to strings strung back to where

You could have been? I hope you wish you could have watched my journey from

Zygote in womb, to daughter to dreamer, child to woman.