Must Be December

I bow down to anyone with children who can maintain a consistent blog through the holidays.

For my readers, a treat: a poem, written by my mother.

Widow's Bargain

It was something about his eyes,
Those "come hither" dark hazel eyes.
Oh yes, he was a charmer
Long and lean, lounging on the stage
Hair screaming for a woman's hands.
But mainly, it was his eyes.

And against all reason, I knew--
This was a man I could share a life with.
I wonder--how could I possibly know?
A middling actor in a morose play
No word, no thought, no gesture, I just
Saw him once and I knew.

Be that as it may, had I also
Known that some future day cancer
Would wrap his mind in its lethal arms
And like a faithless lover squeeze,
Would I have fled? Passed on the chance
To run my fingers through that glorious hair?

Yet, there was that day in June
That magical day he gave me a cat.
A softly whispered, "How do I love thee?"
And there, in his arms squirmed a scrawny
Strange, skittish miracle of cat.
From my love, the man who hated cats.

For that one honeyed moment alone,
I call it a fair bargain.