It may be hard to remember
through all the broken plate moments
that your daughter once looked you in the eye,
that you were mermaids
swimming in synchronicity
in a clear blue ocean,
that there was a time when her ideas
would sprawl out of her head
all over the homework,
a big bang onto to the white walls
of her bedroom in crayon equations,
golden hens, rainbow fish and silly sentences.
“I had a dog named cat.
Cat was a dog but he acts like a cat,”
is the one you remember the most.
She was a difficult birth.
She never latched on to you,
throwing up the little
she suckled from you and the bottle
needing Comidagen for the first twelve months.
Yet, when you went to the strawberry farm
she gifted you the first one she plucked,
running away with the sun’s smile
dancing in her pigtails.
You eventually caught her.
Turned her around.
Held her hands in yours.
Never letting her go
in the journey to the car.
Even after the strawberry smear
obscured your carefully created to-do-list.
Mothers and Daughters: The Strawberry Smear
4 responses to “Mothers and Daughters: The Strawberry Smear”
Bravo. You nailed this mother and daughter. This is beautifulLoading…
Beautiful lines daughter is precious!Loading…