Inheritance

My mother gave me her face  

and as a young girl,  

I used to wonder why.  

I knew she’d say it was a gift,  

an honor bestowed by both her and God.  

I wondered why the honor wasn’t shared

amongst all of her daughters—

my sisters who once waited  

to be sculpted out of clay, 

her image as reference.  

The answer to this question  

became clearer with age.

She and God have chosen 

to breathe familiarity unto me. 

Forming an entire lineage 

of mothers’ onto my face, 

unearthing what’s endured. 

This family crest rests  

outside the bounds of a page. 

A timeless presence, 

as the world must confront us all.

Denice Lovett