Poetry / Evalynn, 1960's (my July 29th poem)

If the generations between us were

peeled back, they would reveal

you, younger then, with freckled hands

running through foam and water,

fragrant heads in silver and chrome basins;

all around, women in bubbled,

NASA-esque helmets, heat blowing

over their curlers, their perms, and

the other beauty school students

darting about in speckled smocks

and plastic gloves, turning

flaxen to flame for the

divorcees reckoning with their X’s.

Fresh from your mother’s

patchwork quilts, dimestore

mysteries, turntables and Elvis

Presley, how young

was the first marriage? Were

the ballroom dancing lessons

an aftermath or interruption?

I dream you into blue sequins

and clickety heels, Lawrence Welk

instrumentals, soft light

follows your feet;

possible to envision

even past red, red lips and

pale dough-flesh, you’re beautiful.