Mark A. Forrester
Interfacing
My mother offers me the shirt to take home—somewhat more than an offer, I suppose. It is the only shirt I ever made, when I was 15 years old and took half a year of home economics in junior high school.
In the years since, the shirt has hung in a series of closets in a series of homes, always moving with my mother and resisting her bouts of cleaning. Now she is nearing eighty years and, along with my father, thinning out their possessions.
dry weeds—
the blackbird’s wings
slant down
It’s survived this long—it seems a shame to throw it out. Before I pack it away, I study the workmanship. From a distance, it appears deftly tailored; my mother claims it is nicer than the dresses her mother made for her.
But the edges are uneven. Rows of stitching wobble where a young boy struggled with the unfamiliar machine.
blue iris
an awkward gosling
trails behind
About the Author
Mark Forrester has taught English for more than 30 years at the University of Maryland, where his awards include recognition for his social justice and antiracist teaching. His chapbooks The World Disappears (2021) and Dreamer’s Moon (2024) were published by Buddha Baby Press. He is a high school dropout, a former chef, and a husband, father, and grandfather.