Memory Noir

Cigarette smoke and cheap perfume
linger in a dance of remembrance
An unmarried aunt who clerked in a store
her rummage sale pearls yellow with age
wrapped around my memories and my fascinations
I was eleven years old when she died
and I heard my parents say: “Floss was never really happy”
But to me, she always smiled and took a
nickel from her shiny black plastic purse when it
was time for us to leave…
putting the coin in my hand and a big red lipstick
kiss on my cheek
Looking back, I think it was my parents who were
unhappy with who she was
There were whispers of past husbands and
maybe a child—but no one ever talked about it out loud
In a black and white 1950’s world Aunt Florence
was bigger than their disappointments
Living in the shadows of the post war mid-century   
a ‘loser’ could slip into one and hang on
She has outlived almost everything
I was encouraged to forget
and her life has become rich in my memory
 —growing richer with time

(Lansdowne Pennsylvania: 1959)