Short Story

My Mother.

Words by Rachel Johnston, Photograph of her, her mother and her grandmother

My mothers body is a patchwork of birthing scars. They run like streams around her tummy.

My mother's leg is missing a kneecap, it has been replaced. It dimples, a river of a scar reaching out.

When I see her, I look for her scars. My mother's scars are beautiful, like tattoos but with better stories.