Letters to My Daughters by Jill Sharon Kimmelman

In a large house with hidden closets aplenty
you, my precious children once played
I watched you turn yourselves invisible
cracked apart your little fingers to peek
during a jolly round of hide and seek

In closets like our’s
mingled cedar with dainty perfumes
you were Hansel and Gretel
hiding for imaginary reasons
behind each door stood boxes atop boxes
shoes tagged for each outfit
jewelry, color, heel height & seasons

You never knew how close you came
to all I secured in great secrecy with care
excitement, nostalgia, perhaps a bright tear
a passionate celebration of what you would find
all of it simply awaiting you there

Two little girls joyous
making games so very merry
seeking refuge from that tall skinny witch
in black shoes, black hose, tall black hat
from a fairytale that promised no good fairies

That is where you shall find them
thousands upon thousands of my words
penned and locked away
my legacy
a bit lofty a name for what they are
nothing more after all
than notes from a mum you can barely recall

Written so long ago
your brother a babe at my breast
you girls my dearest of treasures
young swans dancing, silken braids, matching ribbons
all remembered pleasures
a moment of grace giving thanks for God’s best

Each crisp cream linen page
with splashes of Schiaparelli and Renoir
to honor the imagination
that has always soared within

It mattered not a whit if skies
were dark and gray
where pears drooped on branches
heavy with fruit
those violet blossoms crystallized
trapped in amber like butterflies

With each slim volume, before I began to write
I chose a color, a reason, a mood, a season

Spring’s must come first!

When that glorious season permeated my being
I reached with both hands for pinks
pencils, charcoal sticks, paints and pens

Peonies, lilacs, champagne, blankets, roses,
so very much more
pinks for the daughters
I shall forever adore

Oh I so hope it will turn out
that way for you
brave, brilliant, bold, the palest blush
a palette of pinks in every possible hue

For your very own daughters,
the little girls you named for me
who could imagine such a joy
a thing a heart can almost touch
but still can never see.

©Jill Sharon Kimmelman
Autumn 2022



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