Empathy for My Mother

By Vittoria Burgess

There was a time in my life where my current situation was incomprehensible
Curled up on the couch with red eyes and smoky fingers
The inklings of my misdeeds hide wrapped in several plastic bags
And pushed into the depths of my purse

My twelve-year-old self is ashamed of the person I am
Maybe I do have a problem
“It’s not normal to need to hide so much”
But I remember being twelve

My calloused fingers constantly bleeding
The weight of my mother’s childhood was held inside my hands
She had given birth to her past
It was time to correct her mistakes

With that weight now relinquished,
Our fits are slower
We talk lighter
We ignore the hard things
I learn to hold myself up
I treat my past with forgiveness
the way I wish she could with her own