By Andrea Gutierrez

» Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in Mujeres de Maiz zine (2015, out of print)

I don’t know if she sees it first
Or if I have the bad judg­ment to show her
But Mom lays my head back in her lap
On the sofa while we watch Gen­er­al Hos­pi­tal
It’s prob­a­bly one of those white­heads
The kind you pop, ooz­ing white, then red, then noth­ing
But she digs and digs until noth­ing gives way to red again
          Mom, it hurts

                                Stop mov­ing, I’m not done
I don’t know what she’s doing, or why
And when I run my fin­ger over that scar today
I still don’t know what it all was for.