For St. Patrick's Day this Year, I promise to inhale with the breath of new awakenings. During the course of the new day, I will remember your dark brown eyes, just as they were when you were born.
Today the clouds will separate as I kneel down on the floor and call out your name. Karl Patrick, where are you now?
Raindrops and mounds of green. They said you would not survive one day. Three pounds and four very small ounces, I knew you were going to be just fine. Irish I am not, but a believer born and raised. Miracles come to those who are not afraid.
Driving through the snow one day, I saw a sign. The engine began to quack with four more miles until dark. The journey led me straight ahead. I missed my turn that day. Somewhere your father intervened; he holds your dreams at night.
My four leaf clover, I've missed you so. How I wish I could turn back the clock.
It's another green ole St. Patrick's Day. My things are all packed up and I'm on the road to find a four-leaf clover. Happy fifteenth birthday, my son.
Love you always,
Mom.
Katina Woodruff, from Newark, OH, is the managing writer for One Stop Write Shop, http://www.onestopwriteshop.com. Woodruff has been writing nonfiction and poetry for the past ten years.
© 2008 Katina Woodruff. Original for CCF (Woodruff grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).
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