Poem for Brenda


and I shall honour the woman before me:
comb her hair, listen to her stories, bathe her feet.
for she has trod weary steps, wailed of lifetimes,
yet danced, and raised beautiful daughters.

--warm hugs, hot soup, a mussy hair caress,
and surreptitious kisses given slyly passing by---
these are the humble love nuggets pressed silently
into tiny fingers or man hands.

angry words, swirling, polka-dot crinolines, or        frenzied type on a blank
page
can blaze into night's stars
only to be borne again as yellow sun.
for such are the passions of the woman before me.

her heart beats hard, feet pound, breath steady
as she runs down her roads dropping treasures:
love, foresight, tears, wisdom, laughter,
not always hitting her mark (for goddesses know   true paths are unruly,
hilly, relentless),
but always with a steely, glinty eye, a toothsome,   trickery grin,
that slays the hearts of all who open her gifts.

so I shall honour the woman before me: sister,    wife, mother, friend.
no longer need you dream of wings.
free at last,
your spirit soars, your toes can tap, your voice can  sing.

I love you Brenda. You will always be in my heart.  Your sister, Jennifer.

P.S.  Save me a seat, will ya?!

September 2001