I took a picture of you once,
In the waning hours
Of a family road trip.
You were asleep in the backseat,
Mess of red hair strewn across the pillow,
Tucked inside your favorite sweater
Like an infant,
Your hands, your beautiful hands
That taught me
To write and tie my shoes,
To put on makeup and make art,
Just touching the lips
That kissed my forehead
Every night before bed.

You were caught in a moment
Of childlike innocence,
Your beauty free from the marks
That years of discord and tumult
Had etched into your skin.
For that moment,
You were you again,
Outside of the confines
Of married mother life.
You were a child,
Just taking a nap in the backseat.

You are my mother
And you always will be,
But don't forget that
You're a child, too,
And that it's okay
To let go sometimes.