My Mother

I study her, this woman, my mother.
Dove down hair, bluebird eyes, watercolor skin.
Dainty shells dance, delicate
Over the sweater in baby pink.
It falls loose,
unfettered,
over her long frame.
She is tall, this woman.
Long arms swing easy
side to side
as she walks
tall and proud.
Hope and faith
dance an eternal minuet
in her soul.
Only sleep will slow her dance.
Only Heaven will replace it.

E. Strain
12/09/95