VJ’s Weekly Challenge #96: circling
Circle through the years of youth
Find the gems along the streams
Of your years, my love.
Collect them in a basket,
Keep them close.
When the time comes
Give each away to your
Young ones.
Make each a gift,
Tied with ribbons
Of what you dream
And all of your
Wishes
For them.
As I have given
All my words
As a gift
Tied with ribbons
Of my dream
Of love
And my wish
Of happiness
For you,
My love,
My gift,
My daughter.
In her grandchildren,
her spirit is woven–
What a tapestry
These children create.
The strongest fibers
of her determination run
In the eldest, wearing her grandmother’s face,
Though she never knew her.
Threads of her courage and strength
Weave into the only one who knew her,
Who can remember the smell of her beef stew,
As the grown child wages a battle for her life.
Yarns of responsibility and fun spin
In the lone grandson,
As he raises his son
And forgets not how to play.
The delicate fine threads of her caring and her dreams
Spin through the twins,
Born too late to know her,
One doing what must be done
to care for others.
the other creating a business of her art.
The warm, soft yarn of her love and generosity
weaves through the youngest, my daughter,
Born under the same December sun,
As she becomes a nurse caring
For babies born too early.
In my mother’s grandchildren,
A tapestry of faith is woven,
And I am taught
DNA is more than science,
Woven with soul upon
Some ancient loom.
This tapestry of spirit
Where my mother lives still.
My world exists
In the dark chocolate lengths of her hair
In the arches of her eyebrows.
My world exists
In the shifting weather of her eyes
In the changing curves of her lips
In the small lifts of her chin.
My world exists
In the words she speaks
In the words she keeps inside her chest
In the words to which she listens
In the words she turns away.
My world exists
In the joyful moments of her heart
In the pain she covers within her skin
In the tiny gestures of her hands.
My world exists
In the land her feet touch
In the air she moves as she walks.
My world exists
In the world where she is.
My world began
When God gave her as a gift.
My world began
The moment
She was placed in my arms.
My world exists
In my daughter
As she walks
In the world.
I watch you,
My daughter, my little one,
Sleeping in the middle of the night,
Such innocence,
The face of a toddler,
Dark, long lashes resting on your cheeks,
Mouth slightly agape, full lips sleep swollen.
Yes, the face of a toddler still,
Washed clean of makeup,
The worldly expressions of an adulthood
You were so eager to grasp, to snatch
As if it were the golden ring.
Now, at twenty-one, you’ve decided
I am not so bad.
Perhaps it was all a mother/daughter thing.
In the morning, I’ll wake you.
We’ll go about daily things.
But for now, for now,
I’ll watch my toddler sleeping.
My daughter, at twenty-one, stands to my right.
The gentleman to my left turns to light my candle.
I do not know him, in that moment he is a friend.
I turn to my daughter, and with the small flame of my candle,
Light the candle she holds.
I lift my eyes to look upon her face and I know.
I feel it within me. A tiny spark jumps back
As I think of my own mother and wonder.
Did she ever look at me and feel that light, that flame inside?
Feel that spark of her soul live inside me?
It matters not what I have left undone:
No trip to Paris, No months spent living in Europe,
No books published, Nothing I wish for is important.
Nothing I long for matters to be lived, matters to be accomplished.
I have accomplished all that truly matters
And I can be at peace with any death
because
My daughter lives.
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