I am thinking of my mother
and my mother’s mother’s mother
as I stay, languid, soaking my hair in sun
I am thinking of exponential prefixes
stretching back—the greats—
as I fall for none but July skies
I am thinking of the body mine was traced from,
the slope of my nose, their echo,
as I dodge, cheat, and forget fate
I am thinking of primogeniture’s pressure
for a tan line ‘round my ring finger
as I weave a crown of violet and rose
I am thinking of being a wife
and more, the pain it brought and brings,
as I long to be all they could have been
I am thinking of daughters
and more, how they stop you in your tracks,
as I commit to moving on and on and on
Lauren Mills is seventeen and feels it in her bones. She enjoys pasta, rain, drawing, and tv shows about strange towns.