My mother had three children between thirty and thirty-six, and I had three children between thirty and thirty-six. Now my body is an exact replica of her own. I see her in my own thickening waist. I watch as her feet propel me through the world. I feel her in the folds of my neck and the set of my brow and the slight curve of the finger where I wear the ring my father gave her. The ring she never took off but had to leave behind. Ashes, Part Three LOWER ALABAMA, 2017 After her own death, I suddenly understood Mom’s reluctance to consign Dad to the ground.
