Poetry / Blood and Ribbons

Many years ago,
I looped that raspberry ribbon
through your sunny curls.
And as your blues played peak-a-boo
with my doting tickle,
you muttered,
“as long as I’m wearing this ribbon,
I’m your little girl.”

Yesterday, you visited home.
Your band was frayed, yet it still
wrapped your sleek hair.
I was admiring your maturity,
as your prudent expression,
pinched my fingers
around the bow, and showed me the
gold circling your finger.

My smile began to rain,
but still your eyes gently beckoned
my hand to pull.

“It’s time,” you whispered.

My hand (and gist) withdrew,
and the wilted ribbon,
slid past your gladden face,
into my palm.
And a benign trickle grazed your cheek.

Softly kissing the ribbon,
your eyes imitated mine
and you hushed,
“for as long as you have this ribbon,
I’ll be your loving daughter.”

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