Tracey

Dear Mom
I love you.

You twisted my dreads with practiced hands,
picked earrings to match my dress,
smoothed the creases in my confidence
before I stepped out the door.
You stood behind me—
even when the floor shifted beneath our feet.

You weren’t there for lullabies or first steps,
no tiny footprints across the kitchen tiles.
But at eight,
you opened the door wide—
and let me in.

Even when dinner passed in silence,
Even when I searched your face for answers
you didn’t have,
I still held your love in the small things—
A steady presence
when everything else felt uncertain.

I remember
your words—sharp sometimes—
falling like pebbles on a glass heart,
making ripples more than cracks.
I needed arms;
you offered advice.
You didn’t break me—
you just didn’t know where it hurt.

Dear Mom
I love you.

I hope to carry your strength
and soften its edges.
Someday, I’ll hold little hands of my own
and offer them what I longed to find in you—
love that’s easy to feel.

Still, sometimes
I wished to be the one
you curled around
like that sleeping dog in your lap.
I wished for your voice to soften
when saying my name.

Dear Mom
you're all I have.
and I love you.