POEM: The Photograph

There is an old photograph in my family albums, circa 1966.

It’s my mother at seventeen.

When I was a little girl,

I used to think,

Who is this beautiful young woman in this photograph?

Until I knew it was my mother when she was seventeen.

A portrait of a mother as a young woman.

My mother has since left this world,

But the photograph stayed on my shelf.

I say good morning to my mom every day as if she could talk to me.

I kiss the photograph wishing that I can kiss my mom and still tell her how much I love her.

1966

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 86.