The young girl sat on the century-old quarry
stone steps, covered in pink, cotton-candied lace.
Her mother’s German brown eyes.
Her father’s Latin smile.
An elegant court surrounded her,
Locked arms and strolled by the river
that held her great-grandmother’s memories
of taffeta debutantes
and secret garden trellises.
She offered white roses to Mother Mary
in honor of the woman she would
become. Her father placed the stronger
soles on her delicate feet. She is ready
to enter her world.
Grandmothers and their mothers
stood in her place. Under desert Suns.
Beneath icy blue stars.
From waltzes on red clay
To box steps on marble.
The young girl climbed the steps
Trailed by mountains of lace,
Sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles
and prayers like postcards
whirling in the summer wind.
Her childhood behind her.
Her future ahead.
Open arms embrace her.
She is the daughter of many.
Susan Ward Trestrail