I am Mother

I am Mother.
I am a tissue, a handkerchief, and a dish towel.
Someone to cry at, to cry on, to yell at;
To laugh at, to laugh with, to push around.
I am a fixer, a hunter, and a finder of lost things;
A hammock, a tree to climb, a puzzle piece.
I am Mother.

I am a fairy, an ogre, and a princess.
A healer, a punisher, all knowing and clueless;
A story teller, a dictator, a preacher.
I am a detective, a problem solver, and a nose wiper;
A holder, a handle, a beanbag.
I am Mother.

I am a rock, a kite, and a hammer.
A watcher, a waiter, a doer;
A fighter, a protector, a worrier.
I am a feeder, a cleaner, and a teacher;
Frustrated, accomplished, content.
I am Mother.

I am a sail boat, an anchor, and a train.
A creator, a thinker, a learner;
In control, out of control, under control.
I am a wanderer, a wonderer, and a dreamer;
Too little, too much, just enough.
I am Mother.

I am elated, I am afraid, I am tired.
I am joy, I am trust, I am hated.
I am peace, I am order, I am chaos.
I am trouble, I am hope, I am nothing.
I am in, I am out. I am lost, I am found.
I am safe, I am soft,
                         I am loved.

I am first,
I am last.
I am Mother.