(after Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman)

(for all the surrogate mother figures I’ve attached myself to)

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are my favorite author that I have a parasocial relationship with.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you don’t expect me to have everything figured out.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are a lit mag editor that told me I have promise.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you don’t make me feel bad about myself.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are the crystal shop owner that said, “Welcome, so happy to have you here!”

 

Are you my mother?

No, you don’t resent my existence.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are my friend’s mom that talked me through a breakup.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you gave me a hug and told me it’s okay.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are a magazine editor that agreed with my pick for best romcom — The Proposal.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you don’t ask “Are you mad at me?” every day.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are my half-siblings’ stepmom.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you don’t tell me a detailed list of all the things you ate today.

 

Are you my mother?

No, you are a stranger that told me I was beautiful.