Mama’s Stitches

Mama’s stitches color me like dark

crayons striking paper;

my beautiful Mama’s stitches find me on

the rainy days I try to hide.

Broken vase upon cold tile;

sorry Mama, Mama—I’ll be better

than the little girl I was last week;

you said I needed fixing.

Stitches, stitches, you say will hold me together;

if not now, then forever.

I’ll understand one day, how papas lie

and kiss their bottles instead of mamas.

Oh, Mama, Mama, black and blue

the kids at school ask why I have

these stitches and I smile and say they’re

glue. I’ll stay together better than

the best of you. Mama used to sing for me

but Papa taught her to learn me right

and someday I won’t make the same

mistakes. Mama’s stitches stay with me

even when they’ve disappeared.