The box lid lifted ever so slowly,
And when I saw it, it looked ever so much like something holy.

The color was ivory, the fabric was lace,
And when I held it in my arms my heart picked up the pace.

There were five-petaled roses stitched immaculately,
And when I looked closely I spied her initials AMC woven perfectly.

I held it up to my body; it was just the right size,
But when I discovered the high waist line my mouth gaped in surprise.

My eyes continued to devour every stitch without stress,
Laughing when they saw the small grape juice stain on the train of the dress.

I looked at the attendant and nodded my head,
“This is the perfect dress,” it was all I could have said.

My breath caught and my throat formed a little lump,
When I put on the gown accompanied by matching veil and pumps.

“You look just like your mother,” I heard them all say.
Then a small voice said, “Too bad she’s not here to see you today.”

Tears started to form but then I smiled,
For I was wearing her dress, the one she’d shown me as a child.

The dress marked the beginning of a relationship that shaped me into who I am today.
And knowing my mother, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.