BLAME

Blame? For what?
Walking home behind your mother
who was toting heavy bags?
Your hands were in your pockets
and you’d just now put them there.
It meant you’d have to catch up
and she hadn’t turned around.
How would she know if it was you?
And look how often you had tried
to look like someone else at home.
And from the side, or turned around
you could’ve been a boarder
who had trouble with their names,
a strange and distant boarder
whom they wouldn’t have to notice
even just to pass the butter.
and your lips would sew together
and your footprints wouldn’t read
and they’d all become forgetful
when calling out your name.
You’d have no one there to give to
and nothing more to get.
Excuse me? Nothing more to get?
And the bags weren’t all that heavy.