My Mom.
poetry My mom used to smoke pot.
I think about her--
with her long, flipped out,
Farrah Fawcett hair.
Her tan skin,
because her dad built pools.
I wonder how she laughed,
if its at all like she laughs now:
Eyes shut, full smile making
her nose crinkle up, head thrown back.
I wonder if it is at all like I laugh now.
I wonder and I hope it is.

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