Before ashes and amulets,
before the icon and the archetype,
before the last time was the last time,
before I leaned into the wind,
before the early morning call,
before the cardinal on the lamp post,
before the absence of marigolds,
before the monarchs moved on,
before pumpkin bread in coffee tins,
before she sang Mahogany in the kitchen,
before callouses on her heels,
before mysteries and crosswords,
before the unfinished paint-by-number,
before the veil, before its lifting,
before the citrine and the ruby,
before the garnet and the diamond,
before the turquoise colored glasses,
before she ever conceived of me,
before everything, and before nothing,
she wore a red dress.
J.F. Lemma. Circa 1957-1958.
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Author’s Note: Here is the photo of my mother that inspired this poem. The original had another person in the background. I asked someone to remove the entire background and make it plain. He also made it less grainy. Granted, it looks a bit AI-ish, but I think he did a good job.
