Mom liked 
to spin 
yarn
she weaved 
locks into 
braids
chocolate locks
into delicate 
twists
into intertwined 
ropes
woven and spun
like a basket 
entwined 
by hands of a 
crafter
by hands of a 
master
yes, I never 
asked
how she knew
or how 
she could stand
to count
each strand
or even how
she minded
to make
a declaration of 
love in that
DNA
in those fibers
and threads
that I loved
so much to
cut
at the peak
of my youth
i loved that
careful yanking
intentional and
frank with
the attention
of a patient
mother’s love
a helping hand
firm but soft
hard but tender
here in
the recesses
of golden
adolescence
was strands
upon strands
of maternal
craftsmanship
here in
the recesses
of rosy 
childhood
was the mouth
of a love
woven from
the color
of the soil
under
our feet,
stray hairs left
in the
purple comb
that belonged to
mom’s mom,
generational love
backtracking and
reappearing,
running its fingers
through my hair
and detangling
those knots,
the ones on
the inside and
the ones on
the out.
Marisa Lopez was raised in Santa Rosa, Texas, and now lives in Brownsville, Texas. She is currently studying studio art at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley as a junior, but has had a strong interest in English since high school.
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