Mothers wait. The faces are blank.
Year after year searching the eyes on the street wondering if her color matches, her size matches, her voice matches the long ago cry from delivery.
There are no eyes.
Every dream ends with emptiness.
She skips through the chambers of her mother's heart into the arms of another, unaware of her journey.
She doesn't know her face was erased for another who longs for her.
She doesn't know that under the same sky another waits and wonders and worries.
Another, as hard as she tries, can't conjure the features that they share. She tries to imagine the small voice calling momma.