Strange how in this digital existence
when everyone uploads, tags, and shares
I have so few pictures of you.
The scanned photos I do have
show you as a young girl
in grey tones that hint
at the depth of your spirit
Other photos show an older you
more like the mom I remember
when the responsibility of being
a wife and mother
settled into your soul.
Yet this photo has always intrigued me.
Despite the vibrant colors and vibrant times,
the photo fails to match yours.
You’re wearing a genuine smile of confidence
that I rarely saw except those times
when you were your own woman.
There was the time when you worked
at the community center
and dad worked out of town,
you’d take my sisters and me to dinner
on Fridays when you got paid.
Sitting in that small family diner,
converted from an old Dairy Queen,
eating hamburgers and fries
was the best part of the week
At the time I savored our weekly detour
simply because we ate out and ordered cokes.
Now I understand that our excitement
came from your new found sense of self.
For us kids, that was the real treat.
As much as I love you for being my mom,
I wish I had known more about you
at this time in your life,
and I wish that you had, too.