by Isabella Mori

Write one verse, then another, a daisy chain of little white words with a sun inside.
Like my mother made. like my mother made when she was still an angel with
a halo around her raven black hair, her beauty shining into the June sun.
It was my birthday. Three birthdays, maybe four, maybe five, then the halo wore off,
from sunshine to gold, from gold to brass, then it brittled and fell down piece by piece
at our feet. Hers and mine. We spent the next fifty-three years staring at them.
Sometimes we saw the daisies shine through, sometimes the gold, but
mostly it was dust neither of us wanted to take a broom to.

She picked up the odd piece and crocheted it into a blanket, knitted it into a sock,
cross-stitched it into a tiny carpet.

Me, I crawled around on those pieces
and to my knees stuck words starting with B,
alliterations, sandpainting-stories,
and commas I had to defend with my life.

Isabella Mori is the founder of Muriel’s Journey Poetry Prize as well as the author of three books of and about poetry, including A bagful of haiku – 87 imperfections. Their poetry, fiction and nonfiction have appeared in publications such as Kingfisher, Signs Of Life, Family Connections, and Through The Portal. Isabella was a writer-in-residence at the Historic Joy Kogawa House. Believe Me, a book about mental health and addiction, was released April 2025.