Flecks of turquoise, magenta and purple
stir from the bottom of a drawer
filled with functional white gym socks
and practical navy and black hose.
I tug out an old Bobby Brooks swimsuit
to consider its fate one more time.
But again, I fold and stash it back
at the botom of the drawer where bits
of color splash up to beckon memory.
And I see you gape at me and laugh
in a pool in Hot Springs, South Dakota,
ten years ago on a family vacation.
We slip into warm bubbling water
together in our wild-hued swimsuits.
Two grown women, two sisters,
who see each other once a year,
have bought the same gaudy pattern
in humdrum malls a thousand miles apart.
We both know there are no great
mysteries in these choices, these colors.
Years of matching winter coats, hand-me-
down uniforms, Christmas nightgowns,
Easter dresses, JC Penney saddle shoes
have fused our taste and style into one.
So I save this piece of nylon and Lycra
beneath everyday folds and layers of life
as a reminder of how we once dressed
alike, despite our desire to different,
and how a day can dive deep into
memory and splash us with turquoise.
The Chaffin Review, 2006