For all that you do.

A poem, dedicated to my very own Mom, the true Queen.

Our first human interaction

is with the sound of her voice.

A voice our tiny hands

instantaneously wraps itself around,

in hopes that when we enter this world,

where everything is unfamiliar,

we feel a familiarity with her voice.

Her sweet sounds will soothe us,

swooning over our perfection

because that is how she sees you.

Or perhaps it’s because she knows

what we will face in this world,

and she sees

the potential you possess.

These songs become words.

Words our little mouths repeat,

over and over and over again.

As she feeds our thoughts

with fast airplanes and vast landscapes.

Showing us that we also have a voice,

letting us add an animal or two.

At this stage and even now,

we will never fathom

the sounds of her sacrifice,

of brushing aside her world

in order to pave way for ours,

because she would never let us hear

that sacrifice.

We eventually challenge her voice

as we let loose our own.

We’ll defy her “no’s” and “don'ts”

and hear from her volumes of new intensity

that will sometimes simmer down

to muffled sounds of heartache,

but the way she says our name doesn’t change.

And for that, we promise ourselves

never to take her words for granted again.

Instead, we savor her words,

lock them in our minds

for safekeeping,

and carry it with us

as we walk bravely into our own worlds.

We hear her when we meet a new kind of love

Or at least what we thought was love.

And even then we hear her.

We hear her when we face our inhibitions,

and every bit of hope seems to have vanished.

However, it hasn’t, because if she was here she would say,

“you’ll be okay”.

And even now,

As we’ve found our own voice,

Or even when

our voice becomes the first interaction

for tiny hands to wrap itself around,

Her voice will always be with us.

Thank you, Mom.