She cannot really say what this is, but only
That she has put into it
Some of her favorite things:
A special shade of violet-red,
A bumpy line from a fat yellow crayon;
A face, her own, in blue, her favorite color;
A circle, firmly traced in black;
Two red and turquoise stickers, dug out of a drawer.
She can’t, or won’t say what it is,
But she knows
It is beauty-ful
Beauty for me:
the small head bent in deep attention,
fist clutching pen,
– and her laughter at the sound that felt-tip markers make
Pounding on paper, spewing dots of color everywhere.
And beautiful her words
as she places her creation
into my hands.
This is for you, she says,
Write it, a blessing:
For you, from me,
From Waving Back: Poems of Mothering Life