A poem for my mother

a beginning of one at least.

I have half your DNA, your dry
Quiet humor, your love of words
And plants, the small breasts
We both both love and hate. I used
To wish I also had your dark hair,
Shining and wavy like something alive,
Your skin that tans, your small bones,
But I am his daughter too.

I glimpse you in the mirror sometimes
When my light hair is hidden
Under a paisley scarf and shadows
Blur my pale, freckled skin. I feel you
Inside me as I stand in the kitchen
Washing greens from my garden,
Then I lose you when I lose
My temper over something small.
I am his daughter too.