Amidst the thin and wavering
wildflowers, she's the strong one
with the rigid stem and staunch petals
aligned with the sun's rays.
As a too tall teenager, she's the one with the
ever changing hair color, the dancer in the line-up
with a smile so big, you'd almost believe
it was genuine.
In the gold-rimmed albums, she's the one
in sunglasses, black & white and overpowering
her face, 1970's style.
At her wedding, she's the one in the
chocolate perm that you could say was
overdoing it, the lacy bodice that you
could prove was too much.
In the grey rain pellets on nylon black
umbrellas of my childhood memories,
she's the one in the polka dot dress
and even though it gathers clumsily
around her knees, she was still
ahead of her time.
And I'm wondering, did she sit on snowy
sent-home-early days, staring out of
foggy school bus windows, trying to
put a name to the grace and lack there of
that was her mother?