Cynthia Zhang
Written on September 25, 2011
Sitting in Mom's Class
I smiled to my memory of mom
As my first English teacher.
I cannot help wondering
What it took for her to teach me
In a class she organized for me.
I can still see my childhood friends
Chasing, laughing, peeking into
That secret cage of a caught owl.
I just begin to see mom
In a very different light
As a young, vibrant, and cordial
Companion and teacher.
She is an un-erasable element
In everything I have become.
And I want to grow with another human
being
Into something bigger than the two of
us.
Something knit together by an
irresistable
Urge to embrace each other as
Companion, comrade, and the eventual
home.
Just like the home mom built for me
With warmth, understanding, and
knowledge.
