Mother,

You work a job whose hardships I can’t possibly understand

You leave before I wake, and return after I sleep

Like a benevolent ghost whose only traces are a fresh pile of folded laundry

And a still warm cup of coffee on my desk.
Mother,

You work days you never have to

And why, I never did understand

Until I learned to detect the slight frown you wear before going to bed

And the hopeful smile you wear the next day

With a paycheck.
Mother,

You work harder than I could ever know

And I’m just beginning to understand

Not only that each new wrinkle on your face is because of me

But also that, somehow,

You still manage smile lines.

And mother I can’t possibly apologize.
Like the mirror, you drowned a young girl in me
And like nothing gold, I drained your green
And I’m a fire that eats all air it touches
And turns all available life to ashes
And all the while contently grows
And so for every year you give, I take.