My Mother Before Me

Words by Tara Vala

I think of her 
before she was my mother, 
before she was the one people turned to when things fell apart. 
when she was only herself, 
standing at the edge of something, 
dreaming in quiet. 
soft hands, 
voice untouched by the weight of answering, spirit that ran for joy. 
when she wanted things 
that had nothing to do with me. 
and yet, I watch her move through the world 
as if she had always belonged to others. 
she is still that girl –  
finding herself in the way her tea brews, 
before her hands knew the shape of mine, before  
her love stretched to fit my name 
not just as my mother, 
but as she was 
as she is.