I drag my feet along the
gravel road,
sucking my thumb and my
best friend tucked under my arm.
The soft cloth I rub against
my cheek as an angel
in God's Heaven would sleep
on a cloud.
"Let's put her in the wash"
my mother would plead,
beg as she tugged at the
fingers of my friend,
my best friend,
who traveled with me
on gravel roads unfriendly
to me when alone.
If she washed her,
she may not be as special,
A clean slate to start
memories anew.
"No!" I cry, I hold
on to her, the cloth more
friendly than it had
ever before. She depended
on me.
A tear trickles down
both our faces, and
Mommy,
taken a back,
steps away, and I know
I am her hero
today.