Poem: Being My Mom NaPoWriMo #27

I never thought I’d say

I am my mom

Especially when my job

Up until now

Was not being my mom

What a surprise to find

That being half my mom

From the beginning of this round

There’s no getting around

Being my mom

As I search for more

As I explore

Can I choose to be my mom some

And my dad some

And not be my mom some

And not be my dad some

Ah who am I trying to kid

I am both of their kid

I’m their ego and id

This first Mother’s Day without the guilt

No card this year mom

I’ll scoop up the good

And let the other slip away

Drip through my fingers

It’s Mother’s Day

This year I’m okay

Being my mom

But after that

I’ll probably go back

To trying not being my mom

It may not work

But it’s a habit

Maybe I learned it

From my mom

.

About the poem:

Damn, this is a hard one for us Westerners, with our whole ‘individual identity’ thing going on. In Ghana, my friend taught me, “I am because we are.” In Korea, I think you are if your elders say so. 🙂

I was very moved by Thich Nhat Hahn’s story of a young man who said he would have nothing to do with his father. Thay laughed and said, Ha, you are your father. And your mother.

Accepting a closer connection, a reincarnation of sorts right here, makes it easier to stop the fighting. My finger cannot separate from my hand. I cannot separate from my parents.