Melissa, in holiday red
by Emalisa Rose
You wouldn’t part with her.
Now you don’t want her.
She sits in the chair in your room
where once I had rocked you
singing pink lullabies
from the birds to the sky.
She still has those braids, though
you tried twice to cut them.
A little disheveled, in a holiday
dress, I crocheted for Christmas.
She was warm in the rain, on
those nights when you’d hug her.
She reminds me of who were then
and where we are now.
I ask if you’d want her
for the girl or the boy
that now blooms in your belly.
You say “It’s okay, Mom.
I don’t have a room plan, yet.”
The doll stays with me
Her name is Melissa.
She sits on the rocking chair
with your smile in her eyes.
PHOTO: Melissa, doll crocheted by the author.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Several years after my daughter moved out, I was about to redo her room. I looked around the room and was filled with warm memories, when I saw her favorite doll, Melissa, that I crocheted for her one Christmas. I offered it to my daughter when she was about to have her own child. She said she didn’t have a room theme or place for it, yet. I decided to keep it. This poem is based on that memory of a doll that brought such happiness to my little girl. The art of crochet brings much happiness to me. I crochet dolls, teddy bears, and blankets, which I donate.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: When not writing, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and crocheting. She volunteers in animal rescue and walks with a birding group on Sundays. Her work has appeared in Writing in a Woman’s Voice, Spillwords, The Beatnik Cowboy, and other great places. Her latest collection is On the whims of the crosscurrents, published by Red Wolf Editions.
Silver Birch Press 