Fifteen scribbled pages
And still I can’t explain
What she means to me

She is at once too much
And not enough
Of a presence in my life

Too much because I worry
There’ll be nothing left once she’s finished
Giving herself away

Yet not enough because I can’t
Imagine a time
When I won’t need her

For ten thousand nine hundred and fifty days
Three hundred and sixty months
Or thirty years, she’s held my hand

She’s watched my back
Dried my eyes and stroked my cheek
Without me asking

And she’s held me close
Til I stopped resisting
All her wisdom

I love her more than all the world
All the birds and trees
And ants and fishes in it

She’s my mother and I am lucky
Just for the simple fact
She loves me

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