i. my mother is a giver—what does this mean—my mother is a giver and she teaches me the pieces of myself i can deliver onto silver platters without too much tribulation. a finger and a few toes. a kidney and maybe a nose, but never the heart. for we only get one, thus it shall not part.
ii. i was four when she took me to the grocery store and placed me on scales. she fed me grapes, both sour and sweet until i was ripe. for whom? for whom? i begged, only to be treated without degree. a fresh strawberry begging for passage between immature teeth. flies buzzing around me.
iii. at the end of pocahontas the sun rises with new hope. my mother is a giver and she has learned the fine art of transfiguration. what would you sacrifice to give birth to a new dawn? she asks on the endless drive to places unknown. everything, i say with her smile and practiced precision. everything.