Red Lipstick

With childlike fascination, I stood in
the doorway, watching her apply a
little powder to her face, a
touch of red to her lips.
But even without this process, her
reflection was flawless. Can I get
this moment again? This discovery of
solace? She carried herself like a
delicate rose – possibly the reason
she cared for the garden like
family. Beginning as a bride, she
walked with grace, wearing satin and
a smile, warming that Milwaukee day.
She loved more than her heart
was capable, and time helped to
recognize the feeling, the power of
motherhood, the joys, the heartbreak, the
worries that never dissipate. I keep
her words wrapped in clarity where
their wisdom is readily available, and
I long to ask questions that came
much too late, to share stories
of her grandchildren. She would delight
in their tales. Perhaps, again someday.

Lauren Scott (c) 2018

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