I am you, a mother

I was you.
Young mother
waiting anxious for the day to hold a child
holding all these dreams tied together on string
bunched close in the air, high hopes
imaginings of some sweet voice saying "mommy!"

I am you.
This mother
under the pile of to-do's and laundry
counting up days and wishing they would just. slow. down.
in the thicket of a million blades of grass
tending diligent to weeds that would choke the fragility of our offspring

I will be you.
My mother
that quiet heroine with time to fold her hands
but uses them instead to call and say hello
and she notices that the purpose in her beautiful life
will never end until she does