Watching in awe,

as you colored

between the lines.

Admiring the skillful way

you painted your lips

with that funny pink stick.

Laughing as we sang

Barry Manilow songs,

so loud

the china rattled

in the cabinets.



Thinking you had

the sweetest voice in the world.

Knowing that you loved me

more than anything.

Jealous when you and Daddy

left me home,

to go out to dinner with your friends.

Believing that you, too,

liked Big Bird,

as we sat watching Sesame Street.

Feeling safe and warm,

when you tucked me in at night.

Walking clumsily in your shiny red shoes;

wondering why you and Nanny

laughed so hard.

Trying on your clothes

that seemed so ridiculously large,

your long flowing dresses

dragging on the hardwood floor

catching on

sporadic splinters.

I never thought I would fit into them.

Now I too

color between the lines,

and paint my lips with that funny pink stick.

And though I know your voice

isn't the sweetest in the world,

it's sweet enough,

like the loving gesture

of an angel.