All that Remains

Of Mothers and Martyrs

I am the daughter of my mother

A woman washed out my color

With her pasty skin

Often mistaken for paper

She is covered in freckles

The orange ones that are made

A spark to ignite each child's flame

That's why she is a teacher; a caretaker

Her hair is auburn

Warm colors of red and orange

Soft and barely curled

But it has faded into brown

Icy blue eyes, a piercing gaze

Intimidating, yet full of endless love

Pools of water below ice

Like caps that float on the frigid ocean

This is what I am from