Saturday nights my little
sis and I got belly low,
crawled up the stairs
and spied as momma
walked by – square
glittery, golden legs. Hair spray, perfume,
penciled eyebrows, drops of pink hue rubbed
cheeks to ears. Blended. She grabbed
her leather purse – braided strap & push-
button clasp. Her jacket fit snug (like they did
in those 80’s daze). Us girls jumped
up for goodnight kisses, hugs good-
bye. I don’t remember a sitter (which doesn’t
mean much as we remember what struck our fancy
or our fear); I know for sure the feel of coarse
ruffles on my outstretched hand as she turned to go –
layered, layered, layered, waist to thigh. Amazing.
My sis and I went to our beds with lipstick
smudged across cheeks. I
pulled covers to chin as the Saturday night
door swung shut. Click! Just down
the road, in a dance hall, she
stoops low, reaches high, twirls, spins
with other mothers (and fathers,
I reckon) to do-si-do the night away.
My childhood memory was inspired by a photograph and writerly directive
at this week’s TweetSpeak Poetry Prompt. Go there.
The people are neat-mosquito.