I see a younger version of my mother standing awkwardly by the side of a teenage boy,
his arm around her waist
Both faces filled with anticipation for the night ahead of them:
The Christmas dance at school,
1973

My mother’s face beams with excitement,
Her hair long and dark like mine
Petite frame
A corsage from the boy matching her deep blue, silky dress,
Her arms by her side, uncertain what to do with them,
But still remaining elegant.

My mother’s curved handwriting on the back
“Sophomore year” written in red-colored ink,
It is the same handwriting that sits on the notes she writes before leaving for work
The same mix of cursive and print.

She is the same age as I am now,
Others comment on how I look like her,
Our faces nearly identical
The same cheery air.

The similarities between us now scream out at me,
My mother went through the same experiences I’m now going through
Making it through high school, dating, going to dances, hanging out with friends,
Our differences slowly disintegrate in my mind as I glance at this photo.