The Last Daughter

I think of you, mother. I think of you, grandmother. Only three castings forward of our mitochondria over 100 years. I think past you, grandmother, to your mother, and her mother, and beyond. The unbroken hawser of female to female. Back so far afore the scouring of mountains, the rising of seas, the comings and goings of saber-tooths and mastodon. Back through time, when at one moment we were something else. Then, in the belch of birth... the human genome. I think of that vestige of our inimitable femininity that is unchanged... Woman to woman to woman. Who was the first who raised her hand in rage and fear, in this unique humanity, against her daughter? Woman to woman to woman. I am the last daughter, a Y for my X, a son. Woman to woman to woman would stand aghast when I said... I do not know how to love. Take him; I do not know how to love. I tried, but I am the last daughter, and I will not succeed. Mother to mother to mother to daughter. I do not know how to love. I am the last, the ultimate daughter. I will not pass our inimitable femininity. I am the ultimate daughter. I will pass abundant amnesty.