In Seashells and Cinderella Blue

Maybe I was used to seeing my mom only one way—

As Mother’s Day was this past Sunday, I thought I’d share one of my favorite poems I’ve penned about my mom, Bonnie, who passed away over eighteen years ago.

Cinderella Blue

You startled me, Mom—
that day you splurged
and bought yourself
a brand-new dress!

(I’d never seen you buy
anything just for you,
and you alone.)

Every last bit of sequin shine
was always spent on us—
three daughters
you set aside all your
dreams and fairy tales for
to raise wonderstruck
in the wealth of love unlimited.

The dress you chose shone
blue as a Cinderella gown,
but cut from practical denim
instead of fashionable gossamer,
with little seashells hanging
from belt ties, just a hint
of glamour and gleam.

Maybe I was used to
seeing you only one way—
all your magic faded
scrubbed down
at the edges by time,
but not in that hour. . .

Arrayed
in the raw power of beauty,
I glimpsed your true glow,
a spark undeniably
clear as glass:

Oh midnight may
shatter you, Mama,
shard you to pieces—

But in my eyes that day
(and forever after)
no preening princess
could ever out-lovely
or out-wild you!

I wish when she was alive, I had cherished her more. Spoiled her properly! My mom deserved a thousand closets bursting with fancy dresses (not that she would’ve wanted that). And I will try to cherish those who remain in my life with a heart even just half as kind and generous as hers.

All I have left of that denim dress my mother once loved is this one single seashell salvaged from a frayed belt tie. I found it in her jewelry box after she passed away. Maybe it reminded her of that moment of glamour, too.

I’ll cherish it more dearly than a mermaid’s immortal, priceless tear.

*If you wish to support my ink, peruse and perchance purchase a tale.

Source:

“Cinderella Blue.” (2022). Fresh Ink, 53, 110-111.