To My Mother, On Her Fortieth Birthday Poem by Maya Reid

Firstly, get that idea that you’re old out of your head:
it’s funny, but as I get older, you seem to age
backwards. Sometimes you’re the youngest woman I know, a mother
who both teaches and learns, bounces back from her falls, makes me think of music.
As we teeter on the peripheries of these imporant Eras of our lives—I still can’t believe
you're turning forty and I’ll soon be in my twenties, half—bridges to cross, we’re bridging the gaps
between you and me. I call you just as much as you call me,
and when I see your name on the caller ID, it makes me smile.
We laugh, talk about everything from the show I saw in New York
to your new beau—it’s like we’re almost friends.
You and I are still growing, so we change with the times:
I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.
And second I want to say that it’s okay
if you still feel like you’re tryna make it up that hill,
aren’t over yet, because I don’t want this to be your halfway—
I know I joke a lot, but I want you to be around.
And maybe this is unconventional, but next I want to say,
Mommy, I’m just so proud of you.
Whenever times get tough I look at you and everything you do,
And if you can do it, so can I.
A phenomenal woman, still you rise.
Mother to three, you went back to school, and now you want to go back again,
you remind me that it’s never too late to begin:
Just yesterday you told me you were ready to move on,
ditch the drama and start anew—
Mother, I commend you for never letting yesterday trample on tomorrow.
And lastly, Mom, I just want to thank you
for everything—I appreciate it now even if I didn’t then—you’ve ever done for me,
for eliminating mights, cans, and leaving only will,
for being the woman that you are
Strong, Brilliant, Determined, Smart, Funny,
and inspiring me to be the same.
Just look at how far we’ve come:
You say I look just like my father,
but Mom, today and all days,
it’s your image I try to see myself in.

Happy Birthday.