Sitting on my bed with you
Discussing
why-we-are-here.
You, so certain.
I, less so.
Your personal convictions are your religion
Along with your
smorgasbord version of
Catholicism.
I am here, you say,
To leave this world
just a little bit better
By being kind,
By listening to
those who need to be understood,
By refraining
from judging others…
Even though I might worry about
The path they are
taking,
Where they might
be lost,
Their inner
struggles,
Their outward
trials.
I listened. I tucked your convictions
Away in my heart,
Mom.
And I try—oh I try!
To be this kind of
woman,
This kind of
mother.
