Since She Came Along

She comes home this evening, a flurry
of dimples and braids, hops grinning
into my arms and asks to sing
the sparkles song.

I believe in miracles; she believes
in sparkles--a four-year-old
vision of the world.

We giggle and dance
to Hot Chocolate straining
from the computer's sound card.

On the net we find
an animated mouse
singing to cheese. The song
is right, but no glitter
accompanies it.

She prefers the hippo
dancing with a dog, the boxing
cats, the cartoon frog
riding an air bike
through city streets and over
skyscrapers.

The laughter turns to yawns.
She brushes her teeth, shuffles
reluctantly to bed at the promise
of happy dreams and a night light
to scare away the monsters.

Thread

a needle by lamplight
dimmed in a prairie sunset
that lights fading fields in a blaze
of rainbow hues, fueled by scarlet

spin the wool of winter storms
into a strand for sweaters that
will keep a lonely rancher warm
away from home, under the cold
fire of stars in a celestial hearth

knit days into night
fear into courage
tears into the fabric
of years that weave
us together in painstaking
comfort that finally
makes us whole

                                                                                                � Marie Gail Stratford

Loch Raven Review Spring 2006 — Vol. 2, No. 1
← Contents Page     |     Cover Page     |     Home     |     Contributor Notes →