I frame a hiding face:
A scrunched nose pokes through
Her webbed hands, a girlish lace.
I break her cover to reveal
Pouty lips that I adore.
"No pictures!" she pleads through giggles
As I poke her for one more.
I pause and fancy her camera--
Soft lids on her almond shutter,
And aqua irises focusing purely
I hope she captures life's delights:
Imagined friends asleep in her closet,
Dressing up, dancing and tea parties;
Bright-hued paint on her youth's palette.
Someday she'll hold my perishable prints
To her heart, picture against picture;
I worry she'll scold me warmly and say,
"More photos of us would have been better."
Yet I pray she'll cherish these portraits;
Not see in them a mother not there,
But instead see in the numberless prints
Me and my love for her--