Mama’s Gifts

I gaze into and around
the curl. It is soft and shines
like spun gold.

She took it from my
first haircut, tied it in
a ribbon and sealed it
in an envelope.

It is part of the collective
memories which fall out
of my rust-stained baby book.

she gently caressed the lock of hair
before sealing the circle of time.
She wrote the words that I
said, when I was beginning
to touch the world around me.

She introduced me to the
pungent smell of pine straw.
An outdoorsy aroma that
forever made me want to
seize the earth’s gifts.

She sent me off to college
with the “right” clothes.
A college where, years before,
she danced, looked at the stars
in the night sky and dreamed
dreams.

Her young, smooth hands
put the lock of hair away.
Something for me, and my
children.

She looks at me now with old
eyes, and remembers her
love of a little girl with
strawberry blonde curls.

Janet Brice Parker, 2004