by Mia Ugalde
My mother's taking a nap in our parked car.
Sunlight splatters her skin
Like scattered, fragmented mosaics
What are you dreaming, mother dear?
her muscular legs, her calloused heels
Curled up on the steering wheel
How did you get so strong?
Her love, expansive like space
Scattered stars, gems of wisdom
Unexplored paths, untold horrors
How have you learned to love me?
A fountain of youth pours from her lips
Carried by her contagious laughter
Wild auburn hair streaked with grey
Do we have the same, bright-eyed gaze?
Goddess of the Sun
Dreaming on polyester upholstery.
Dreaming of California
Dreaming of Grandma.
I sit and I write.