Do people know whose child I am 

From the way my ponytail curls, 

From the bridge of my nose, 

From the curve of the hair 

On the nape of my neck? 

 

Or 

 

Do they know from the way  

I laugh as openly as she does, 

The way I tuck my hair behind  

My ears, the shape of my glasses, 

The way I stomp rather than walk, 

The way I roll my eyes? 

 

Do I lose part of my mother 

As I become my friends? 

 

Do I lose part of my mother 

As I yell “jinx” on the highway, 

As I point the way they do? 

 

Do I lose part of my mother,  

As I spend my weekend out, 

Rather than at home? 

 

Is distance growing between us 

As I watch our shows  

On a different tv? 

 

Or 

 
Does the distance close 

As a friend becomes a sister, 

As I come home for dinner? 

 

Can they still tell whose daughter I am, 

Now that I wear my hair down, 

And in front of my ears? 

Now that I am aware of my laugh, 

And how truly open it makes me? 

 

I hope they can.