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.