Penney’s

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We sat on the floor

Drinking coffee, comparing

Little girl memories of shopping

At JC Penney’s. Rows of dresses,

Everyday cotton prints, flowered

Rayon Sunday best, surround a counter

Glittery with rhinestones and Blue Waltz

Perfume. Slips and undergarments hide

Discreetly off to the right—mysterious

World of women. Shoes racked in back,

Flanked by men’s wear—work pants,

Coveralls, denim defining roles. Elevator

To the left, stairs straight ahead,

Children’s wear on the mezzanine.

Downstairs to the lower level—

Fabrics, sheets and towels—the real

Women’s world. Our mothers took us

To Penney’s to buy our first bras;

She in Rapid City, South Dakota—

Me in Havre, Montana.

Same Penney’s. 

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Snow Monkey Plum

Dry, wrinkled, brown,

It lay on my palm.

Her eyes sparkled

As she watched me taste

The salty, bitter sweet.

I screwed up my face.

My mouth watered.

In nibbles I ate

The delicacy. You might

Like it better as tea,

She said. I stowed

The bag on my shelf.

It lay forgotten,

Until when cleaning,

I found the dusty bag.

Smells evoke that summer

The Girl from Taiwan

Gave me a special treat,

I sip with pleasure,

Salty, bitter, sweet.

Ghost Stories

The stories we don’t tell

Are the ones that got us here,

Here where we live deeply

As well as the here we tread softly.

These stories wake us in the night

With vague glimpses, ghosts of memory.

Tempted, I open my mouth

But the words stick in my throat.