Lisa Marguerite Mora conducts workshops and offers literary services. Publications include Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Rattle, Literary Mama, Public Poetry Series, California Quarterly, Cultural Weekly, Rebelle Society, Serving House Journal, a Blue Mountain Arts Poetry Prize, First Place winner Micro Fiction for Dandelion Press.  Lisa was a semi-finalist for The Tom Howard/ Margaret Reid Poetry Prize 2020.  Her first novel caught the attention of top agents. Her prose and poetry have been nominated for Best of the Net and a Pushcart Prize.

My Mother’s Hands

Ridges in her nails. I have those ridges now. She painted them pink.
And would often stretch out her hands, her fingers, and gaze.

What was she looking at? What was she remembering? On one
finger, the index—I can’t remember which hand, side of the first knuckle

an oval raised area, sweet and neat where she sliced through
by accident with a kitchen knife when she was a young woman. She told me she quickly

stuck it back on, it healed, no stitches. The way she said it so lightly
as in no matter, no consequence really—all better now! I was impressed.

She had this attitude with a lot of things in her life. How she severed me
away from her when I was a baby—sent me far—then pulled me back, glued me

to her side so that I never wanted to leave. She was strong-willed. I am strong-willed.
Even now this laceration I endured from what I loved best makes me sore, strong

with scar tissue, glued to her still—the piece she sawed away.
The piece she could not live without.