By far, my favorite Christmas present this year came from Delia, my 13-year-old goddaughter. A week before the holiday, she called from Boston (yes, a tween used a phone!) to ask a bunch of questions about my shared childhood with her mother for a school project. Then, on Christmas day, she sent me this poem, which she said was the real motivation for all her questions. I was so impressed with both her delivery system and the poem itself that I felt inspired to share it here. I’d think she was a wonderful writer even if I didn’t love her so much.
I don’t see her often
but she is never forgotten.
Eccentric nonsense games,
links us over distance and time.
When I am wrong
she is sure to correct me.
Expressing her opinion
It’s a part of who she is.
Friends for ages,
Lisa and my mom watched each other grow up.
A secret adventure into Boston as children,
later attending stale events and turning them upside down.
Starring in every play as a child,
a voice as strong as steel.
A showoff on the dusty field,
waiting for a base to steal.
Bryn Mawr and Haverford college on her own dime
studying literature, film, and feminism.
Going her own way always,
eventually it will pay off.
Waking up early
Surprise ride to Brooklyn
Michael Jackson blasting
My face covered in morning sun.
It’s part of a tradition
the excitement is exploding in us.
We can’t wait to look up at the shimmering flashy lights,
loudly singing along to a favorite broadway musical.
We finally arrive to a lively greeting,
both from Lisa and the dazzling city.
Walking up three flights of steep and creaky stairs
to dump our luggage into the kitchen.
The faint smell of perfume fills my nose
the familiar fur hats and coats evoke many memories.
Sitting under one big fuzzy blanket
laughing at Shaun the Sheep.
The street is buzzing with culture
while we stroll around Brooklyn.
laughing us down the sidewalk.
Berating me to put my glasses on
and helping me through hard times.
A strong and independent woman defines her,
and inspires who I hope to be.