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?