Mother, Mother

Girl skirts mended to my little gal hips
Mother stitched, mother’s tells me, “You priss and special surprise.”
The crook in her neck a shouldering smell
Where all tears seem to ground and dry
“Keep those blue eyes right there on that starry prize,”
Big girl jeans carry on my young woman thighs
“That’s right baby,” she whispers
“Believe in yourself, that mouth deserves a smile”

Susie E.