A Mending Hand

Jane Burgon

Dress-up in Mommy's closet—my favorite

Small fingers traverse a forest of cotton, denim, and cashmere

I discover Mommy's special skirt, a waterfall of ruby silk

I have been told—Don’t touch, that is only for Mommy!

But it’s beckoning to me, swish swish go maracas in my ears as my mind tangos

Breath held, I slip on the exquisite skirt—I am the Queen!

I slowly turn, one hand holds up the skirt, the other waves to my fans

I speed up, music rings in my ears, drowning Mommy's footsteps

The door opens, a shocked mother gasps—What is going on?

I whip my head, hand dropping, but my body will not slow

The sneaky skirt slides beneath my twirling foot—No!

Rrrrrrrrrip

My sneaky self wishes to slide beneath the sturdy bed

I look down at the skirt, and pick it up, the room is still

A disappointed mother shakes her head—What have I told you?

I speed to her side sobbing, the threat of drowning in my tears looms

Apologies decorate my face as I turn and extend the skirt into her reach

I hold my breath as she examines the skirt then says—How can you fix it?

She pulls out the sewing supplies and beckons, Stitch stitch go rejoined seams

I am told—It’s not the mistakes we make, it's the way we fix them

Together, we place Mommy’s waterfall of ruby silk back up, bruised but not broken

We gaze at the new stitching, a unique story of learning and love

A mothers mercy—my peace

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