Mom

When I was young, I was a framework of you

Waiting to be molded into someone like you, ten degrees rotated.

You and your elegance, you and your eloquent way

Of speaking to strangers in the grocery store −

I thought the earth must be in retrograde

The first time I saw you cry with your mouth wide open.

I don’t know if I am becoming, if you are unbecoming

Or if I have finally found the place you go to be weak

And have decided to stay for a spell,

Cradled in the soft womb of your retraction.

You are not indefatigable

You are distractible and quick to turn off −

I see you stare out the window and

I know you wish you had done some things differently.

Perhaps it’s true what they say:

Daughter grows up to become mother’s best friend

But I am sure I am not ready

To hear your sighs, or even acknowledge them.

If I am moving forward into the clear light of knowing you

Which way are you moving?

Wait for me −

Don’t wait.