Nothing Like

My mother ran our household
with single-minded rule.
She made our choices for us
for clothes and work and school.
With little say, my Gran and I
looked sadly at each other.
I murmured hopeful words to her
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother was well-organized
but lacked imagination.
She claimed I was endeavouring
to rise above my station.
I thought of the ideas she
was quick enough to smother,
and then I said, defensively,
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother died of cancer; she
was ill for several years.
I see the way I'm headed and
I'm trying to still my fears.
At the funeral, my friends and I
regarded one another.
I mouthed, again, the desperate words:
"I'm nothing like my mother."