My Mother with Angel Red Lipstick

She hears me like a whisper

A breeze twisting through her

Fingertips

I am

The sun in her

Jewelry box, the

Moon in her eyes

Blue and grey.

 

She is Clininque “Angel Red” lipstick,

The smell of cut grass in

July and

Chanel Coco and No. 5

 

She is a polka dot dress and

I love you to the moon

 

Homemade apple pie

With real crust

And no sugar

Blue hands on

Sunday mornings

 

She is my October

And I am her July

 

But she knows

 

To me

She is every season,

 

And I know

 

To her

I am every sunflower opening her golden arms to

The sky,

I am the ray of light

In her pocket like the sun

Bursting behind green mountains—

 

To her

I am

Every

Day.