My Mothers Daughter

I am my mother’s Daughter

When I break into song for no reason
When I knit or bake or plant because its the season
When left-overs become a gourmet meal
When I talk about the way colors feel
When nothing has a recipe
When I automatically say, “Her name is not Bea”
When I revel in the rain
When I drive my family insane
When I wait to break down till the crisis is done
When I face the battles that must be won
When a stranger is just someone I haven’t met
When the unknown is something I haven’t mastered yet

The compliments I receive are reflections of all this
Something, in youth, daughters seem to miss

And when I look in the mirror
It is easy to see
I am my mother’s Daughter