Becoming My Mother
—it’s not so bad, really.
I remind myself to floss,
buy shoes with arch support,
sleep less and clean more.
I’m never caught in the rain
because my joints ache
when clouds gather.
When the day bruises me
as days inevitably do, I go home
to quiet rooms without dust.
I tell myself, There, there.
I put the kettle on but catch
its silent roil before the whistle
because peace lives there.
This is how I practice. This is how
I sweep crumbs from the floor and snow
from a headstone. This is how I will love myself
when there is no one left
to love me back.
Tracie Renee Amirante Padal is a librarian, a Publishers Weekly book reviewer, and a poet who lives and dreams in sort-of Chicago.