She brought her daughters to the doctor.
One was sick and miserable, sad face pout.
The younger, six or so, bright eyed smile
wearing her Wonder Woman dress.
It was still bright red and blue, stars white.
Yet, it was worn, wrinkled, weathered.
The cape had a tattered shaggy corner.
The hem seam pulled, thread dangling.
About the waiting room, another eyes watched
as she, quietly, defended with steps and twirls.
The mother, while cradling the eldest, smiled
like the dress, a bit worn, was strong.
As mothers do, she looked about the room
Checking if her youngest was a bother.
Proud and friendly eyes met her’s
saying she is fine. We all are fine.
An elderly woman grinned and winked,
and the mother could see beyond.
Every woman had a Wonder Woman outfit
beneath their exterior of today.
Yes, some are frayed and dented
from years of life and challenges.
Some with proud pink ribbons
or battered bracelets from a fight.
Motherhood and jobs and children
pulled many threads, torn seams.
Yet, proudly she wears the colors true,
head high and shoulders square.
From the door, the doctor came in.
A young women, twenties, was with.
She had on a Wonder Woman T
and a sad face holding tears.
A quirk of fate, created this circle stage
from young to old, fresh to wise.
In the spotlight the little girl stood.
She stepped to the young woman.
Brandishing her bracelet, she spoke,
“Touch yours to mine. Have my strength.”
Mother blinked at her daughter’s words.
Yet, the young woman, grinning, kneeled.
They touch wrists, bracelet to bracelet.
Little girl dabbed the tear of the other.
“Sisters in battle,” said the little Gal.
“Sisters in life,” said the other.
There was no flash or thunder about,
but a wave of energy did surge.
Rocking the souls of the women,
Blessing their essence with power.
All about smiled, knowing, the gift
brought by the little girl in red and blue.
Taller, they became, chin high and proud.
Their strength for life bold and renewed.
