My Mom

I am my mother.

I keep thinking, "No, I'm not!"

But when I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection
I see her.
There she is looking back at me.
I have to do a double take.
How did you get in there, Mom?

She was there when I was a child.
Holding my head when I was sick.
Brushing out my tangly hair.
Making sure I was dressed and ready for school.

She gave me her imagination.
Taught me how to have fun with the simplest of materials.
Showed me how to sew.
Made me pink milk and cookies.
Told me to be patient and follow the instructions.

I went off and lived my life.
I neglected her.
I thought I was somehow independent.
I stopped seeing the similarities.
I denied the part of me that was her.

Now I see her in me every day.
I hear her voice in my own.
I feel her mannerisms.
I clear my throat like her.
I tap my chin like her.
I never wear white shoes after labor day.
I make my bed each morning.
I worry about dust.

My Mom is lucky.
She had four children.
I have none.
I can't pass her on to my own.

My Mom makes me wish I were a mother.
I wish I could see myself in another being.
Knowing that my child could never abandon me.
Only grow out and come back.
Back to me.
Back to my Mom.