By early afternoon, I have become
my mother. Despite mounting evidence
that the world is falling apart, I find
reasons to be grateful. The light in the leaves,
for instance. And the scent of the mint
in the garden that I let grow rampant,
the way my mother did. It is not that
I do not want to become my mother.
No, she was happy to become her mother,
and I am happy to become mine. Not
that I have any choice. I nod too much
and stay up too late and wear clothes
out of style because they make me happy.
I am glad I finally stopped fighting it.
After all, the world is falling apart,
and it’s easier to meet this fact
with a smile that often finds my face and some
very comfortable, though ugly, shoes.