My spirit danced in the love of your laughing blue eyes as we skipped hand in hand down our sidewalk. Through the yellow rays of our neighborhood’s sunlight we passed the daffodils in bloom and yesterdays’ fuzzy-smudged hopscotch game.
Giggling, we sang a song from a radio or TV commercial I’d never heard since.
On my first day of kindergarten you said we should wear our matching mother-daughter print dresses you made, so we wouldn’t miss each other as much. Together we waited for the bus so I wouldn’t feel afraid around the older kids. You gently squeezed my hand in yours when they called me a baby because I still needed you. We held hands until it was time for me to go. I watched you wave to me, smiling through your tears as the bus driver took me farther and farther away from you. I finally turned away when the cruel shadows of elm and maple trees hid you from me; tears cascading from my eyes onto the little print dress you made.