Golden Threads
Show me how to do those leg lifts, Cristina.
I need to learn.
You know –
Tissue only likes the white cushion
to sit on.
Nothing but the best
for my Tissue.
Vera loved her cats.
We have that in common.
She also loved her kids.
Her girls, by marriage,
and the many foster children
she raised from her soft hips.
A voice like honey –
hands made for cooking chili –
Vera held the world close.
She sewed until her hands
were broken from arthritis.
She mended minds.
She mended hearts.
Vera was the mother to all.
On the day I found out she died,
there was a rainbow in the sky.
I rushed home,
thinking my own mother had taken ill.
We sat at the table,
after the phone call came through.
Mother to many –
Vera was gone.
We remembered her –
the golden needle –
the silver thread.
Somewhere close
she is mending fabric –
making clothes out of bread.
Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2014
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