#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

My youngest turned 22 today. I woke very early but delayed my walk to fix her a birthday breakfast treat. And to prepare for my Wednesday writers. I made crepes, brought her a breakfast tray in bed. These are the things you can do for the youngest. Our special ritual since she was a girl and once in awhile I still enjoy pampering her. I make her a breakfast tray, carry it to her room and in the English accent of a lady-in-waiting to a princess I tell her Cook has sent up the tray and is awaiting further instructions. Today there are strawberries and maple syrup and hot tea and tulips. She thanks me. Leaves early. Calls again later, more thanks. Her older sister visits later in the day with her fiance. Good news – they may be ready to commit to a wedding date. This morning I heard footsteps rushing down the stairs while cooking the crepes. Happy Birthday, dear daughter, I sang. But, she was still in bed. It was my son who came into the kitchen smiling. Twenty-two years ago he had a day off from school when I realized I was in labor with her. He came to her delivery too. In honor of my daughter’s birthday, I will share an ekphrastic poem I wrote some years ago, inspired by this original art by Sarah Tallarico that was part of a Wickford Poetry and Art Contest. Her art is named “Dreaming Tree.” My poem is “Umbilicus.”

Dreaming Tree: Art by Sarah Tallarico

Umbilicus

Your daughter is a dream in winter, alive

and unborn, rooted in your imagination,

a mystery you will never solve.

She will drink from streams of memory fed

by mothers she will know and not meet. Dreams

of your mother – her mother – her mother will rush

into the sluice and be the juice and spoil of her – her

nutrients and waste. If she is born it will be

in April. You will be more and less than a mother –

you will be a creator. You will nourish beauty

and neglect it. You will heal and do harm. You will

give all you have and never enough. You will be

an artist, a perfectionist, a failure. You will be

a tree of dreams dying in winter. She will be

a tree dreaming a daughter rooted in her imagination.

You will be a stream of memory feeding her dreams

and daughters, born and unborn. Everything you wish

her to remember and forget will rush into the sluice

and be the blood and breath of her – her nutrients

and waste. If she is born it will be

in April.

©Kelly DuMar 2014. Published by Wickford Art and Gravel 2015.