Janet Fagal
Central New York Branch

One summer she painted
in Maine, by the sea.
Shared poems she’d learned in school:
Sea Fever, The House with Nobody in It.
At home she coaxed beauty from the heart:
a Revlon doll, my special gift, with ball dresses handmade,
a tiered organdy skirt for the mirrored vanity in my new room.
Christmas angels sculpted for her sisters,
one foot high, clothed in vibrant
velvet and gold braid: the blue of royalty,
purple rich and regal, winter white.
She painted cards one year.
Scenes of forests clothed in frosty gowns,
a Santa and his pack, baby Jesus in the manger.
Gifts from the heart.
I saved the little poinsettia dress she made for me,
kept all these years for another child.
Her great granddaughter, dressed for the holidays
dances in it. My mother, I know, celebrates.
I feel it in my heart.