Reflections, I have two: one is rasin
and the other is honey. One, has a prominent,
but straight nose. The other has a flat, wide one.
They both have broad backs and paws for hands
like me. They are mine.
Of course, the obvious is when they open their mouths.
“Mommy, I got this.”
“Ma, I told you. Nobody would listen.”
Then there is me. I feel my mouth moving,
but who I hear is her telling my children
lessons they tune out, fears I have for them,
things I'm certain they'll forget until they startle me,
spouting off something I said years before.
I see her. I see her most when I'm at odd with them.
I am her,young and unsure not old enough to direct
my own path; older, but not wise to remember I can't
I forget the truth about mother and daughters:
We are tangled vines. We are seasoned by hurts and wrongs.
We grow outwards until we don't, until we are mothers
seeking roots we once threatened to sever.
I am my mother's daughter.
When I look at them, I see me.
When I hurt or feel loss, when I am
disconnected, I listen for her. I reach for her.I am her, my mother's daughter.
linked for Hannah's, "Mirror, Mirror" challenge