Halfway Through

Forty-eight inches,

a decade of growth,

curled into fetal comfort,

seeks the safety

of mother’s womb.

 

Smooth tender scalp

rests on her shoulder,

arms encircle her neck.

Cuddle toys can’t

fill his need

for security.

 

Radiation’s brand marks

the tomb of the enemy,

robber of joy, peace and play.

Plastic tubes pump

poison into his chest.

 

Dad is big and strong,

Mom, warm and wise,

but sarcoma sucks;

that’s just the way it is.

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Patchwork for a Princess

Delicate petals of violet blue, strewn along swirling vines,

a floral pattern on white starched cotton.

 

I see her sitting in the front pew, feet swinging;

patent leather shoes topped with white bobby socks;

freckles playing hop scotch across her nose.

 

Stripes: Shades of blue and purple,

some wide, some narrow,

rivers traveling side by side.

 

Her first sewing project was a simple apron,

She wanted ruffles. I’d said, ‘no’.

Sad little tears trickled down her face

 

Soft shimmer of lavender satin slumps

into graceful folds on the glazed tile floor.

 

An orchid tilted its haughty head,

as her wrist reached to rest on the shoulder of his tuxedo.

Did he know he was holding royalty?

 

Floral pieces frolic with childhood innocence

Amongst the stripes of her growing years.

Satin insets are sprinkled throughout

Like the silken petals of a rose, mature in its bloom.

Tender memories are embroidered within

This patchwork for a princess.

A coverlet of Mother’s Love spreads warmth

Across the bridal bed.

 

 

Published in: on December 12, 2010 at 3:35 pm  Comments (4)  
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