mother by KatieAnn Nguyen

i’m proud to call you my mom

five years old and i’m crying on the first day of school, 

tears sliding down, snot dripping down as 

i sob in the way only a child could. and you stayed with 

me until my eyes turned red and i could play with the styrofoam 

blocks with the other kids. i waved you off then, but you didn’t 

leave until the bell rung for school to begin. you always stayed 

long after i kissed you goodbye, watching the back of my head 

as i walked away, waiting until that moment when i turned around 

one last time and waved to you, smiling toothy grins with childhood bliss. 


i appreciate all you do

and you would tie my hair in braids and ponytails in elementary school;

my feet swinging from the kitchen seat as you worked the strands 

into one another. i would stare at tile floor patterns, playing with objects 

impatiently until you would finish. and as soon as you were done, i would 

run off, to childhood fantasies and mischievous unknowings. and sometimes 

we would talk long into the night. as everyone else slept soundly in the house, 

our voices would meld together in tinkling laughter, and the two of us would

talk about nothing and everything all at once. we didn’t need to talk about 

anything in particular, all we needed was to be in the company of one another. 


i love you

waiting at garage doors when you come home and kisses goodnight, 

and it’s princess and honey and sweetie and smiles. you were

the first person i ever loved, the first place i could run away to and 

call home. in your arms, i felt safe; and you would wipe stray tears 

from my face, whispering soft little things into my ears. and i know 

that you will always be the one place i can run back to, no matter where 

i am or where i go, you’ll always be there. and when i’m thirty with 

a family of my own, i’ll always remember loving you.


KatieAnn Nguyen is a first generation Hmong-Vietnamese American who has been writing ever since she first held a pencil. To her, writing is about the freedom of expression, an extension of who she is. It is her hope that one day her work will be able to touch someone and help them through their own experiences.

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