Someday

In times spent

preening by the ornate mirror.

Me smeared, of colors.

That filled her beautiful lips.

Her angelic face, nearly as red,

with false anger and arched brow,

as she put away the broken bits.

And wiped clean my face,

with the back of her palms.

Someday, thought I,

I would pout,

proud of the redness

and of my own fullness,

Just as she did.

She stood me,

on the high table

I could not reach otherwise

And unwrapped me from

yards of splendid fabric,

sighing at the tears I had caused

mulling over the damage, lips curved.

Someday, thought I,

I would sizzle like on fire

draped in those very silk

and make hearts flutter,

Just as she did.

She sat me down

and put away the stilettos,

awkward and wobbly in mine.

She, an epitome of grace.

And when she walked in them,

Oh! I would watch amazed.

Someday, thought I,

I would walk like a dream,

on air, high on cloud nine,

and the gait shaming a 1000 doe's,

Just as she did.

Through the lowered lids,

and silence then,

I did not see anger or pain,

yet the salts stung at my eyes,

rolling down my cheeks,

that she kissed away.

And held me in a warm embrace.

Quiet now in her snuggle,

 she sniffed ,for she had known

that someday her angel would be

scrubbing them off few of her own.

Now, I smell, smudge the tips of

every shade by my dressing table,

I feel the best of my wardrobe,

crisp, shining in neat rows.

I look at the shiny black pair,

in the closet, left ajar.

And smile.

At the missing one from the rack,

At the faint clicks down the hallway,

My bundle of joy in a cat walk.

I know I can never fill your shoes, 

Any day.

Love you Mom.