A Sonnet for Mother

I wasn’t always true. I lost my mind
at times—first, in my teens, then, my twenties
and if time allowed, I’d have made amends
but mother died while I still had plenty
to say and though she never stopped loving
me, her dark shadow, it is true I hurt
her fragile heart, me, her newly budding
daughter, and it didn’t take much effort
because I had that coldness a sullen
girl uses to assert independence
from childhood’s imagined dungeon
but, of course, reckless actions make no sense.
It takes many years to forgive oneself.