Postcards From My Past

~*~*~*~*~ A little girl with dark brown braids. White blouse, gold-colored wool skirt and patent leather Mary Janes. An only child with a wired haired fox terrier that lived with Grandpa, Mother and Father. Her Mother, sweet, who saw to it that she had ballet lessons, went to a private school and Mother read her poetry for hours. A book collection she did have and loved to read even before she really could. Playing with friends, riding her bike, loved sparklers on warm, July Fourth nights. Saw men proud to wear a uniform, who never came back from the war. She did not understand when someone stole her Teddy Bear during one of many blackouts during the war. Whoever would do such a thing? No TV, no technology, just cut-outs, crayons and she was taught to salute the flag, because she lived in the land of the free. Children were safe, could go on the train downtown. But she cherished it the most when hiding like a cub, under her Mother's warm coat. The snow sticking to train windows, peeking in. Swimming at small lakes in summer how she loved that the most. So suntanned, she, the color of warm toast. The girl knew song lyrics, she never forgot. They live in her mind and heart and cannot be turned off. Years passed, the autumns and summers. Family now almost all gone, yet somehow, she remains young. Always desirous of being herself, you won't find the braided girl wanting to belong to any crowd. The music, the dance, her life, somehow made her become a poetess. Surely, not the best! Being genuine is the gold standard for all she writes. It must past this test! She does not write to impress with great finesse. Just to keep it simple as can be. Thus~you will experience her poetry! September 12, 2020 8pm PST