Birthmark

I disappointed my mother
she carried that disappointment with her
forever.
Even when there were other disappointments
and despairs
mine was the one she fixed
as the origin
could never annul, or understand
was the one that chafed her
like new shoes
or scratchy clothing.
My betrayal was something she could put out of sight –
sometimes
but never into storage
or discuss : “ you all mean the same to me.”

But history deals only in facts
she had produced the first grandchild: maternal and paternal.
I was her second
there were cousins by then.
No trophy
lightening, without thunder
Apollo 12 slashing down, to replication
it was very disappointing
The brackets had closed. They never reopened.