The Mothers Who Made Me
For mothers who spent long nights
tracing the curves of my ears to help me sleep
who rocked me in the dead of night, who made
special magic to keep the monsters at bay,
for the ones who taught me the Good Books,
the stories that winnowed into my bones and
reminded me of what it means to live.
For mothers who ushered me through adolescence
the perpetual tide of emotion and
the power of the undertow, but somehow
taught me not to drown in my own self-image,
in my compulsion to be seen.
For mothers who helped me to see myself clearly,
even the faults
even the shortcomings
And to learn the bittersweet tang when the words hit your
tongue
words like,
I was wrong.
I am angry.
Let’s talk.
I’m sorry.
Women who taught me it is a brave thing to cry.
I have many mothers who made me
teachers, mentors, preachers, mothers, best friends, aunts,
and all human, too.
For those who say it takes two to make a family,
how lonely life must be.
Because the mothers who made me
are legion,
like spokes on a wheel
like clusters of stars who shine bright for the world
(the light I have seen by
on many dark nights)
for one mother cannot be
Everything or Everyone
and there are so many mothers in this world
waiting
just waiting
to help the ones who come after
to teach them to
teach themselves
what it means to be alive.
