I am mother

Moon flushed and bare feet holding
grass between toes singing, swaying: 
I am mother. 
Eyes soften upon the ripples of self you hide 
and you loathe 
and you love. 
I am mother. 
You never changed, you just got better.
Stripped back to see what you are,
really made of. 
I molted, I ballooned, and saw God. 
I did somersaults backwards 
and grew a new head of hair
as strand by strand came out in the shower. 
Stood idle as the cells of my skin
rearranged. 
My flesh alive, now divine. 
I am mother:
More pliant, more monster, on fire.

— Chelsea C.