My Betsy the “flower girl”

Three forty-five p.m.

I took a break.

I’m again rocking and thinking.

Danny will soon be making our dinner.

I decided to exercise my feet and take a stroll around the apartment.

Before I leave, I sing my Betsy doll a song to my favorite picture of her in front of me.

She is holding a bouquet of flowers. 

She loved flowers.

She once told me that as a kid, she had a small flowerpot that grew flowers.

It was placed on a ledge outside her window.

Me, a tenement kid, the only flowers I first saw were on the chest of a dead man.

I love flowers, the smell of flowers, but not with the passion that Betty did.

She “glowed” while holding them.

She was always picking dead leaves from them.

I often told her she smelled like a flower.

It brought a smile to her face (and mine).

(July 2, 2021)

Author: Morrie Markoff

Centenarian (born in 1914) who lives in Los Angeles, and is also a metal sculpture artist and the Author of "Keep Breathing," available on and other book seller sites.