paper dolls (for darnell arnoult)

perhaps

it is the joy of tomato sandwiches

the smell of jergens and jean nate

at thirteen

or our love still for grandmothers aunts

who enter rooms

largely sideways

hips broad enough

to use as sideboards

maybe it is the value

we place on duke’s mayonnaise

the sandwich spread for queens…

whatever wherever and for ever more

we are little girls

revisiting space

rebuilding houses

renaming mothers…

perhaps it is the secret

knotted inside the pleats of skirt hems

sewn along scarf edges

fringed secret whispers

that whisper a familiar smell…

whatever we become

sisters

stealing a moment

to cast word spells

undress our mothers

repaint their lips with anything red anything Italian

drench their heads with ancient clairol wisdom

anoint their hands with herstorical bronze

queen of the nile henna…

we reembrace

lace

full petticoats

white linen skirts

sailor dresses

patent leather

for the pretty pirates

swans

ballerinas

we will become…

perfumed necks

wrists adorned

in vintage memory

cut carefully

along the edges

of this madness

this magic…

we lie down

and wait for the moon

to trace us.