I wish I’d had a little Boo,
A sweet little girl, wide-eyed and innocent.
Big eyes, the color of her Dad’s,
Brown hair like her Mom’s in pigtails
And an infectious giggle that didn’t stop.
Joy and laughter,
coloring and running around.
A love for her monster Sully, ever so sweet.
I wish I’d had a little Boo.
A sweet little girl to read fairytales to,
Spinning up some special stories just for her.
Watching her grow and blossom.
I wish I’d had a little Boo.
A beautiful girl stands at the window looking out to the garden beyond. Raindrops roll down the window as the rain stops. She raises the window and the curtains catch in the breeze; the smell of flowers permeate their room. The dark clouds slowly give way to the sun and the flowers glisten in the light.
She sighs a deep sigh as she looks to her left. Her little sister, still so small, sleeps peacefully. She tortured her sister growing up, teasing her endlessly. But now she is faced with the future and needs to mature. That doesn’t mean she won’t pick and joke any more, but she’s learned, she also needs to keep an eye out for her little sister too…oh, the benefits and responsibilities of being the first born.
Soon she might be able to date boys, when her dad and mom let her. Shh, don’t tell them, but she’s had her first kiss. She will need lots of room to grow; hopefully her parents remember being teens.
She also feels she needs to achieve…she’s a smart one and creative too. She wonders how high school will be different from her old school…especially after the roller coaster ride the pandemic had on her education.
Her body is changing; she’s rocketed up to over five-foot-eight, so much taller than she ever expected. She’s changing from a girl to a young lady. She’s still learning how to move and dress in this new figure of hers. Her hair hangs straight and long. She wonders if she should change it, but that can wait for now. There’s still an innocent young girl there, staring back at her in the mirror.
Summer is escaping quickly, and fall will arrive soon. So much growth and change is on its way. But for now, she enjoys what is left of summer and keeps on being a kid for just a bit more. She returns to the window and rests her head in her hand. The curtains flutter around her. Growing up can wait.
Dedicated to my friends with firstborn girls, and all the drama that comes along as they grow up.
Inspired by a poem from Mitchel David Ring: https://thelightison.blog/2021/06/29/firstborn/. Thank you for the inspiration! ~ DRM
My mind drifts back to a time when
Innocence and new love ruled.
The scars were few,
you gently explored them
with your touch and with your kiss.
I only had two back then, but now there are more.
Would you explore them and show me
That gentleness once again?
The one on my knee has turned to many
The white scars glare when I am tan.
The small one on my bicep, something benign.
My elbow scarred from falling to the pavement.
Would you be gentle to them?
The stretch marks that cover me,
Where depression and weight took their toll.
The three inch scar at my bikini line,
Removing the reason for no children.
Only to end at my first scar,
behind my upper lip from
when I fell as a child.
Would you care, would you be kind?
Would you explore my scars with your gentleness again?
You know you’re good friends when:
You don’t clean before they arrive.
They’ve seen you without makeup.
They’ve seen you with your hair a mess.
You can laugh together at being stupid.
You can cry in front of them and they know
whether to hug you or slap you silly, or both…
And you have conversations about poop.
Now you can enjoy the full short story on one page, Eye of the Storm:
https://dawnreneewrites.com/eye-of-the-storm/
Take a journey with Mikaela as she reunites with old friends and works with them to save the minds of many.
The rocking chair creaked as she rocked back and forth,
Her bare feet leveraged against the wooden railing.
Her hair had silvered with age, and thinned as well,
but the curls still sprung when it was humid out.
Crows feet spread from the corner of her eyes
from all the laughter and tears of her life.
He walked out, the screen door groaning closed,
the way old screen doors do, and
he handed her a tea and took a seat beside her.
His eyes and smile still sparked a fire deep in her soul.
She dangled her other hand from the armrest
and he slipped his in, holding her tight.
They looked at each other and smiled.
It started with them and what happened in between,
well, there were many other lives and loves,
but their separateness helped them understand
what it meant to love and be loved.
And the sun set on them, together, in the end.
If you’ve been single at any time in the past few decades, you likely have heard of, if not joined, some sort of online dating site. These sites have you build profiles, highlights of yourself, answer questions, all that good stuff, to help with the matching of your profile with someone else.
I haven’t had use for these sites in well over a decade, but recently, someone from high school reminded me that the concept was not anything new and harkened back to a time in high school, long before the internet, where kids filled out questionnaires and were “matched” with three potential candidates.
I’m sure it was all innocent, meaning to help people meet each other. But they reminded me of the fights that broke out when the matches were, well, unexpected. Established couples broke up, boys got in fights over girls, and vice-versa, and people were disheartened when their crush didn’t show up on their list.
I didn’t immediately remember this, but I thought about it for a while, and slowly, some details came back for me. Was I honest on the questionnaire? Most likely. Did I get matched up with some people? Sure. But, here’s what I really remember.
See, I was an introvert and I had a good relationship with my folks. Anyway, I had the results stuck in my English book and showed them to my Dad one day. He laughed, then scoffed at me. “Just get rid of that list. If there’s a boy who likes you, he’ll come look for you. You don’t need to be seeking him out.”
With that, the list was taken from my book, and tossed. The names, forgotten. My dad was old-fashioned in that way. He felt girls should let the boys come to them. To this day, I think this is one reason why I only went out on a few dates in high school. Boys didn’t seek me out.
I learned from that lesson that sometimes, you have to initiate contact or ask for what you want, contrary to what my Dad believed. Heck, I had to ask my senior prom date, a friend only at the time, to take me; otherwise I would have probably not gone.
I love the fairytale where the knight in shining armor rides up and sweeps a lady off her feet just as much as the next; but I also learned I wouldn’t have companionship if I sat back and waited. I did wait at times. I waited much too long, but my knight didn’t show up. Sometimes, you just have to make your fairytales work with what you’ve got and who you can. Otherwise, life just passes you by.
She tried to be aloof, not to be heard from for months.
She gathered her thoughts, she tried to forget some,
but most of all, she hoped he didn’t hate her,
or worse, not care at all.
She gave him what he requested,
she always tried, she always would.
But how and when and what to say, she did not know.
She felt she had to pick and choose the timing now,
not just whenever and whatever she felt. It’s been hard.
His birthday approaches, so maybe she’ll reach out then.
At least, with that, she can keep it light and short.
And hopefully not be so aloof.
I just picked some tomatoes this week,
I think that’s why she’s on my mind.
She loved Florida tomatoes, especially from Ruskin.
I called her my Smokin’ Grandma.
Not like my cousins, who called her Mam-maw.
She wasn’t hot….okay, maybe she was hot to Grandpa,
But to me, she was just Grandma.
In her youth, she had flowing red hair,
a long neck, and chiseled cheekbones.
As she aged, her hair turned to salt and pepper,
and she wore it in two braids, wrapped around her head.
I remember her always wearing shirt dresses,
the ones with an a-line skirt, a belt,
and the top bloused and buttoned.
She even wore a floppy hat when she gardened.
Married at 16, and I suppose a shotgun might have been involved,
She was faithful to just one man her whole life long.
She passed away on Christmas Day, two decades ago.
But she lives on in my memories.
Heavens’ tears come pouring down.
Tears of happiness, tears of sadness,
tears all the same.
Lightning crashes.
Bolts from above and below
Flashing and casting eerie shadows.
Thunder roars in the chaos,
shuddering the windows,
they rattle in their casings.
A night of frightful storms,
startling the small furry creatures.
May the storms end soon,
and peace return to the dark night.
Dawn Renee Writes 