by Donna Hunter
I wrote these four “I Am” poems in September 2009 while I was a student at Tarrant County College.
I am their mother.
I wonder if I did the best I could have.
I hear them tell me I did a good job.
I see that they love and respect me.
I want them to be happy.
I am Sarah’s Mother.
I pretend sometimes that I’m feeling better than I am in front of them.
I feel so very proud of them.
I touch their faces and hair and hug them.
I worry that I’ve hurt them somehow by leaving out something they needed.
I cry when they cry.
I am Will’s Mom.
I understand them better than anyone does.
I say, “I love you” and they know it is true.
I dreamed of being a mother and my dream came true.
I try to be what they need and not what they don’t.
I hope I’m succeeding.
I am Hunter’s Ma.
I am a student again.
I wonder where I’ll end up this time.
I hear the sounds of learning and living.
I see sunshine and blue jeans.
I want more of this.
I am happier.
I pretend I am 18 instead of 47 and did this when I should have.
I feel most of the time that things will be ok anyway.
I touch the keys of my laptop, the pages of my books, my hair while I study.
I worry about the future sometimes.
I cry when I worry about the future.
I am determined to keep moving forward.
I understand that there is always more to understand.
I say “What’s next?” and wait to find out.
I dream of a career that thrills me.
I try to plan my life, but life does not always cooperate.
I hope I succeed anyway.
I am having fun.
I am a dancer.
I wonder how I managed to wait so long in life to start doing something that I love so much.
I hear music and feel compelled to move to it – Country, Ballroom, Swing, Salsa, Zumba!
I see others dance well and admire it.
I want to know how to dance every type of dance.
I am happy when I dance. It is my drug of choice.
I pretend sometimes that I’m floating on air when I’m spinning on the dance floor
I feel in my element on the dance floor.
I touch lots of sweaty hands when I go out dancing, so I wash frequently.
I worry about being prevented from continuing to dance.
I cry like a big ole baby sometimes if I don’t get to dance as much as I want to.
I am a little embarrassed about that, but I’m afraid it’s true.
I understand (sort of) that it is only dancing, not life itself.
I say, “No, thank you” to slow romantic dances, until I can dance with one special man who can hold me very close.
I dream of everybody dancin’ in the streets – even all of my boring friends who won’t ever go dancing with me!
I try to fight centrifugal force on spins. (I tend to lean outward and you are supposed to stay under the lead.)
I hope there is a good band next time I go out.
I am pretty good if I do say so myself, but I want to keep getting better.
I am a writer, a questioner, not a rule follower.
I wonder what lies ahead
I heard footsteps; Mama heard them too.
I see my house and my life in order, clean and organized.
I want peace.
I am trying.
I pretend – no, I don’t anymore. I used to pretend I was free when I wasn’t.
I feel hope sometimes, fear sometimes.
I touch my remote control and my pillow and try to relax and fall asleep to mindless TV.
I worry sometimes, but I don’t believe in it so I try not to.
I cry when my spirit is stirred by something beautiful or sad
I am a woman after all.
I understand that the best I can do is the best I can do.
I say I am doing my best but I sometimes wonder if it is true.
I dream of everyone being happy and healthy.
I try to help.
I hope it will happen.
I am here.