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I remember
helping her
snap the back garters
onto her nylon stockings,
a task she could
no longer perform
with ease.
I remember
feeling her
roundness, her belly
warm and reassuring,
familiar
wrapped in her skirt
then tied with a bow
like a secret present
beneath the accordion
pleats of her
maternity top.
I remember
watching her
as she applied
her deep red lipstick
a signal to her children
that she was going out
to someplace special.
We all begged to go along.
She smiled with
mystery and wonder
and went alone.
It was the only
time she had to herself.
A rare gift
for this mother of many.
Her chance to have
an unshared moment
with the new life
growing inside her.
She looked so pretty.
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Author Notes
This is my 11th poem for NaPoWriMo 2024. A free verse that offers a glimpse into my mother's life and a memory I treasure with such fondness.
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Copyright 2024.
Ginda Simpson
All rights reserved.
Ginda Simpson
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