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.
