Betty, the neighbor’s goat died. I just found out.
She was the one I looked for, trailing behind the herd as they rushed to eat our compost.
Bow legged and slow,
I’d call out ,” Hi Betty”
As wide as she was high with heart shaped lips, oh my!
Betty was my mother’s name.
She taught me the pleasure of words, passionately reading a poem
Giving it all she had as if someone’s life depended on it.
My mother wore a corral colored lipstick, “for courage.” she once said.
I wish I could remember the name of that color…..
“Wildly wonderful You” perhaps.
As my daughter says, “This is not a dress rehearsal”