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)