Changing Hands

sunspots, veins, and (you guessed it) everlasting love

I think of my mother often this time of year; she died three years ago this month. Reminders of her sometimes come as a surprise: I’ll be about to apply lip gloss and notice that the shape of my mouth—slightly downturned at the corners now as I’ve gotten older—is just the same as hers. That my feet seem to be getting more narrow-heeled, like hers. And t…