TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY

An old high-school photograph of my mother;
Seventeen, long dark blond hair,
Large brown eyes.
I am twenty,

Still, in this photograph she looks older
Than I will ever be.
She could never have been selfish and confused
Like me.

Now the recent photo.
Mom and me in the back of that rental car;
The Spain trip.
Her face aged by forty more summers

And her hair turned brown, now gray
Still, those brown eyes
Like Venus de Milo's, Lady Liberty's,
As if for her only,

Learning is experience.
All she has seen shows truth.
I am incapable of seeing anything.
And even in that old photo,

She already knew.
That gravity moves at 32 feet per second, per second -
They knew that when they flew to the moon.
That all men are created equal -
They knew that when they shot Dr. King.

O mom! Business majors shall inherit the earth,
They stare at me when I crawl past the Gallagher Business Building
On my way to choir:
My idea of heaven is a dollar store.

Can I make any sense out of it?
But those eyes, like Montana summer sun,
Absolve all my reason
And leave only wise wonder in its place.