Mother, Forgive
Mother, forgive. I
set your high school
yearbook on fire. I
watched the flames lick
those faded black and white photographs
of you and your shoulder-padded girlfriends,
you and your guy pals in Ray-Bans,
you and your spray-netted bangs. Now
there is no need for you to stay
up late, mourning for the dawn
to retrace its course.
No more will I
hear you sobbing
in tune with the flipping
of yellowing pages.
Mother, I lost
a button on my uniform.
It is in need of mending.
_
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