Poem for mom, #17 of infinity

A Spanish stranger called me beautiful and you looked her right in the eye and said “I know”

like it was a secret, one I’d never be in on.

I carry you(r)

Cheekbone,

thin shoulder,

heavy weight.

Sacrifice was our love language from the beginning.

You raised me to feel,

make a library of life in my coat pockets,

and let goosebumps

inflate me.

In 103 degree heat you told me

“you’re going to be hot, you’re wearing the color of the sun” and I

drew a portrait of your slow laugh in my mind.

What will I do to protect your magic?