Mothering

By Katy Reagan

I watched my mother rip out her own hair when she stared into the mirror for too long.

The first time I stared too long, my hands went to the same place.

But when I did this in front of her,

her hands went to mine,

with all the gentle care in the world.

She held our hands together and lowered them from my head.

Tears streamed from my face as her loving fingers wiped them away.

She told me she would never hurt herself again,

as long as I would do the same.

The world had torn her down,

but together we would build ourselves up.

What is mothering,

if not growing with your seed?