I'll sow it unto her

Mom’s love came quickest when I told her I won the gardening grant.

More I’m proud of yous

And enthusiastic punctuation 

Than since my last academic achievement 

Seven years ago in college.

I could be conflating approval with love

And pride with affection.

But she did that first. 

That hurts me to admit. 

Is it really that way?

Do I double gaslight myself and

My childhood self

And maybe the future me 

That eventually says mom we need to talk about our relationship

And her face falls and her self concept crumbles

And her legacy (her mothering) wisps to dust on the 

Spring time water.

I could also try to accept the pride and congratulations.

I’m proud too.

I could read back through the texts and linger over the affirmation.

Little me would get a big bouy from that

Float it all the way to the next good grade or reportable praise.

If love is pride and pride is winning money by writing well,

At least it’s money for the garden. 

Garden mom knows how to accept all the forms of love

And compost anything funky back down to where we can all drink it again.

I’ll sow it unto her

And watch it peel open and up

And maybe it will be poppy little sungolds

Or a whimsy nigellas that we seed saved - oh the cycles and the magic.

Photosynthesis can take my mother daughter carbo dio and scramble 

It with light so that I can breathe easy.