She Sang in the Morning

This is a photo of me with my mother when I was about 9 months old. The poem follows.


She sang in the morning
as she softly reassured daybreak
from under the warm covers of her embrace

She sang in the morning
as she settled like dew on thick tufts
before all the stars could evaporate

She sang in the morning
as she serenaded robins and sparrows
who flitted about in serene commotion

She sang in the morning
as she wove a crown of baby's breath
and white doves flocked to her side

She sang in the morning
as she gently caressed my brow
etching her needlepoint onto my DNA