Lipstick and Lotion

When I used to get restless sometimes at church,
Mom would give me her purse to soothe me.
I’d dig around to find mostly boring things.
Nothing much but the scent
of Lipstick and Lotion.
Keys, Tissue, Pen, maybe Paper,
an interesting Plastic thing,
maybe it was a Mirror,
a Comb, her Wallet,
Notes, Reminders;
They all had the scent,
Of Lipstick and Lotion.

The Lotion Mom used for her hard-working Hands,
Skin toughened from Dishes, Meals, Housework, and Chores;
Sacrifices daily created the scent,
Of Lipstick and Lotion.
The Lipstick she’d wear (mainly for Dad)
was red like the Cherries in Grandma’s sweet Pies,
or the Robin’s breast as it sings on spring Mornings.
The kind of red that made Mom’s soft blue Eyes
shine brighter like the Sky on clear Days,
or like a blue Beta shining fiercely in Water;
like a rare blue Rose, her Eyes would shine,
refreshing that scent
Of Lipstick and Lotion.

Images come from the scent, so ceaseless,
engrained in my Mind evermore.
Mom’s silver Hair (it’s always been silver),
her bright raspberry Smile and cool river Eyes,
entangle forever in the scent,
Of Lipstick and Lotion.
Her Purse always has it, never fails,
no matter what shape or color it takes.
The scent yields her Image.
She follows me now. Always defending,
She carries me through with
The scent of Lipstick and Lotion.