New View Rag

There have always been times in my life that only poetry could touch, let alone attempt to describe. This is one of them.

My Girl

I gaze at the woman,

Her soft hair cascading,

A sable screen lit with gold

Small mouth tugging on her breast,

And all I can see is the

Wide-eyed toddler,

Dark brown corkscrews bouncing around

Her ears, her mouth a round O of delighted

Laughter and,

“I’m not a delight I’m…”

My daughter, his mother,

My heart dislocates, has gone

“walkabout” on two journeys made three.

I used to have one body, now

My love is housed in so many it can never

Fade or fail and she doesn’t know how big

Is the piece of me she carries,

This beautiful kaleidoscope of

woman/baby/teenager/child/mother/daughter/sister and

all the unknowns in-between.

And still, she is that one,

That covert and lovely angel,

Proof of second chances and of grace.

My girl.