Mother High Style
Up the narrow
stairway to the attic
That smelled of dust
and pink Owens-Corning
Occasionally we
looked in the cardboard moving box
With “Mayflower”
on the side.
She would tenderly
remove fine tweed jackets
And pencil skirts
with silk linings,
(With zippers that
hadn’t failed in twenty years)
Saying, “Maybe
these will fit you”.
When I declined in
snippy teenage fashion
The moth-eaten size
3 suddenly made her melancholy
Although I think it
was really about the lost perfection
Of the finer things.
©Christine
A. Evans 1.16.17
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