in search of my mother’s blueprint

My mother was an artist. She drew self-portraits and small sketches during church services. Her favorite verse was, “Love covers the multitude of sins” and she forgave others quickly. The bangs that covered her forehead and the hardworking veins that covered her hands reminds me of Sexton, Worley, Garth, and Ash. The part of town that was chocolate city. An Asian woman with mixed babies in chocolate city. Sounds of broken English and Ebonics. Smells of cigarette smoke. Tastes of Budweiser’s morning breath. Stepfathers uncomfortable touch. Mother’s comfortable love.

When she immigrated to America, she came in search of educational freedom. She thought that “this place could be [her] refuge.” No degree and three babies by three different men later, she survived off of a green card. She was now in search of some kind truth, an escape, or “an artifact to make tangible the truth of [her] past.” But I wish I knew what it was. 10 years of knowing a woman who is called your mother is not enough. “The side view of her face is imaged on my memory, and I take a few steps in life, without feeling her presence…”. But “my own fear of death sends me home” and it sends me to Sexton, Worley, Garth, and Ash.