Could Be Complete.. For My Mother.....

Small and 4x6 sized, old and tinged brown. Like tea stains on the back. Looking at it I see me, deceptive, smiling back. 1988, I'm surprised there weren't tears. For my mother she had left, it had barely been a year. No one to throw the ball with, no one to take me to the playground. She never taught me right from wrong, or talked about religion. If I could reach inside the picture, I would hug that child aching there, and say, it was all going to be fine. For one day I'll be a father, and you turn out so divine. No matter, leave all these words unspoken, If I could reach inside the picture, to these feelings buried deep. May be then, that child and me, we, could be complete.