On Mothers

there have been many mothers in my life.
when i was small, she held me when i was sick
kissed my forehead to see if i was feverish
fed me orange baby aspirin and ginger ale
held my hair when i threw up
set me on the counter and curled my ponytails
tied them tight with red yarn ribbons
sewed dresses and dolls and overalls
for me.

another, when i was older
sat me down and talked to me
about sex and boys and what they mean
caught me sneaking out and sent me back in
through my window
arms crossed over her chest,
watching.

another fed me fried chicken and biscuits
folding baby clothes in the recliner
listening, nodding
laughing with me
and never judging
she knew things i thought she didn't
she let me keep them secret.

my mother's mother
tinier than i was when she died
in photographs she smiles down at me
i understand the hurt my mother felt
while i ache for her mother's arms around me
one more time

and the mothers i've found, my parallels
the otha motha, the aunties and friends
the mothers without babies of their own
who have reached out to mine
and loved them, loved
like they deserve

mothers across the miles, voices on the phone
and virtual hugs to pull us through
we have seen loss and pain and triumph
we have fought the things that threatened to take our little ones
and won
we have cried each other through the hardest times.

for everyone who has mothered me
offered comfort and joy and solace in the dark
from birth until now
i love you.