Things My Mother Left Behind

You left your thumbprint behind my eye,
strands of fate woven by your desperation
to keep the pieces of your life glued together.
You left your imprint in the shape of my hands,
the machinations of my mind and the words
that deftly escape the confines of my mouth.
You left your fingerprints on my childhood,
torn at the seams by genetic predisposition,
the gradual fading of laughter into the sun.
You left your boot print in the pit of my throat,
plucked my voice out with your disappearing act
and left me on the pavement to mend my own wounds