Introducing The Next Generation Of Leaders And Thinkers

A Retelling

This poem is about my mom. I’ve known her for only seventeen years of her life — she was a whole different person before I was born. She didn’t have me until she was thirty-five; she had another life at the time. I think it is safe to say that almost all teenagers love to listen to stories about their parents’ childhood and teenage years. It’s fun to see just how different they were. I gathered this image of my mom from these stories and from the old images I see.

She was the one

with hip and sway,

and she had an eternal glow

and a lingering hug.

She found strength

in a haystack of worry

and could turn

this tiny

needle of strength

into a sword of might.

She was —

she was magical with

an ethereal essence

in her aura

to attract the eye

and tug the heart.

And her care —

her care

always made you feel home

because

she

was home.

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