Note: I was deeply moved by the sudden loss of Kate Spade, who offered the world such bold, bright, brilliant designs. Her daughter and mine are the same age, which inspired me to write this poem. I live and write in Buffalo, NY.
A Note to Kate Spade’s Daughter
I couldn’t afford one of your mother’s purses,
scoured the counterfeit vendors in vain
for a seafoam green wallet whenever I roamed New York.
Her classic American style always on my wish list.
Those sleek designs in bright, bold colors
while dark caverns lingered within--
my own walls painted taxi cab yellow, Sausalito blue
to escape that taunting darkness.
Bea, it must have been one of those black ink days
when she fell into a deep stone well,
a well so deep and dark
your sparkling eyes couldn’t penetrate,
so she scratched a note and tied that red scarf
around her neck to hoist herself out,
coloring her world forever incandescent.
No one intends to leave a middle school girl behind.
© 2018 Lisa Wiley
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