Brown Eyed Girl's Blog

Here in the Real World

Brown Eyed Girl

Brown Eyed Girl
Bel Air, Maryland, USA
August 27
Writer, Educator, former police officer, never been to Spain. Published my first book in September--"Toepicks, Cadaver Dogs, and Sports With No Balls". I like to believe that you really can't reflect on life until you can find the humor that is hidden away in some little secret pocket or slit in the fabric. This, of course, is different from a hole.


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FEBRUARY 2, 2013 11:29AM


Rate: 6 Flag
When you were one month old.
I looked at your sweet face and thought
'please let me raise her to remember
to look at sunsets
and moons
as if a choir was singing a hallelujah chorus.
Let her grow strong in heart and spirit,
yet weak to the sound of laughter,
the smell of honeysuckle,
and the softness of puppy breath.'
When you were three,
 I rubbed the curve of your cheek and prayed-
'let me always remember the bubble of her giggle,
the power of her brown gaze,
and the voice that querie, "Hold You Me!"
We made stories of Pilarline, played in boxes,
and savored old and almost new moons.
When you were six,
I watched you turn for the bus and I hoped
you would find a passion for words,
and comfort in searching--
not getting lost in the pursuit
or taking yourself off course
in deep dark waters.
When you were ten,
I watched you twizzle on the ice
and I dreamed
you would not find this world
too hard or too cold,
that you would always find music
to accompany your dance.
When you were sixteen,
I stood as you drove away,
shifting automatically the gears of change
and I wondered if at my age you would remember
the pink stuffed bear,  
a macho dog
and a black and white cat named after a Power Ranger.
When you were eighteen, you laughed with him
and I tried to align the advice I had proffered,
to love with abandon?
to keep one part as an anchor?
Did I tell your the truth--that we never know
we just do--
and hopefully
finger crossed on blue moons,
that just maybe
John and Paul were right. 
And now, at twenty-one
You have found joy in sunrises
and the gentleness of a western wind,
You seek the scent of sunshine on climbed rocks
And Gerber Daisies--
another chorus of the same verse.
You find warmth on the ice
and dance in differentiation.
You remember the theme--
more important true, then the path to venue.
You have not forgotten the feel of the pink tuffs,
or the dog I didn't name,
or Zack's eighteenth star.
You love with hope and with faith,
stepping off the ledge into whatever awaits.
And though to you the journey seems long--
It is not complete.
I want to see your hair turn gray,
and hear your daughter giggle at your songs,
watch as your husband holds your hand
as you dance back down the aisle.
And all of us asking
at all the right times--
"Hold you me."
Hold you me. 

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This brought tears to my eyes not only remembering the little girl you're writing about but remembering a little blue eyed blonde.
Beautiful. And wishing her many many happy years ahead. ~r
it *is* amazing when all those things happen, just as you imagine they would. lovely poem.
wonderful ~
hearts broken in all the right places.
Oh 21....
........(¯`v´¯) (¯`v´¯)
............... *•.¸.•* ♥⋆★•❥ Thanx & Smiles (ツ) & ♥ L☼√Ξ ☼ ♥
⋆───★•❥ ☼ .¸¸.•*`*•.♥ (ˆ◡ˆ) ♥⋯ ❤ ⋯ ★(ˆ◡ˆ) ♥⋯ ❤ ⋯ ★R