Mom & Me

CHRISTINA YUN

I LOOK LIKE MY MOTHER

From the crinkles between our cheeks and brow

To the dimple visible only from the right side portrait

I hated that the fire wicking from vein to artery

Was smothered by dishes, diapers, and to-do’s into burning embers

I hated the routine dictated by school days and nights and tip-toes around full moon blues

She didn’t deserve to be buried under the backyard soil of life.

But as my steps led me farther and further away to lands she wouldn’t know

When shouted, electric, traumatizing, and beautiful trials invaded my being

As my soul was picked apart

As my mind trembled under ultimatums

I noticed that my weathered hands . . .

looked like hers

Generous hands that overflowed Tupperwares of food to children away from their families

Silent creativity bringing people to their knees in sobbing reflection

Quiet, patient kindness in the eye of fiery tornadoes of emotion and thunder

The joy in the everyday, little things that truly bring

exclamations of bursting happiness —

I painfully, and gratefully, realized . . .

how honoured I was

I looked like my mother

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