Look at pictures of your mother
when she was younger,
and looked even more like you.
It makes you sad, doesn't it,
to see her so happy.

This was when she wore her hair long
like the hippie she was,
and skipped school to go to the beach
with her boyfriend,
your sister's father.

This was when she had your brother,
and her smile for the camera
makes you think of the poetry
of golden sun rays catching dust particles
in the summer.

This was before she couldn't take it anymore,
before she decided rock was evil,
before she started smoking like an adult,
and hid from her fears
in the trailer behind your house.

This was before she whispered "Hello, goodbye"
to the three children who might have replaced you,
before she married your sea-faring father
while your sister wore blue high-tops.
Before she came to regret it.

It makes you sad
to watch her look at these pictures,
to see the longing in her body.
It makes you want to cry,
but she looks at you and smiles
and you know everything there is to know --
She would never go back
if it meant losing you.