Mother paints in a chair opposite me, what is She drawing? 
 
is it me as a Soldier? 
it probably is — every mother wants a Soldier 
i imagine one hand at my side, the other saluting  
they're not both resting on my head, as they are presently 
how does She feel about having Her kid in medical school? 
i mean, intensive training isn’t easy 
sometimes i wonder if it bothers Mother that i'm not in Vietnam 
maybe i could train to be a Combat Medic 
now that’s the painting — me wearing a green helmet — big red cross on it 
saving lives is preferable to taking them, right? 
what would Mother see me as? 
am i meant to be a Soldier? 
am i meant to be a Medic? 
perhaps i’m meant to be both 
Mother smiles, turning her painting over to me 
painted is me — in a white shirt and khakis — deep in thought, 
both hands resting on my head 
 
She sees Me as I am.