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 the old Bobby Brooks swimsuit
to consider its fate one more time.
But again, I fold it and stash it
in the back of the drawer where bits
of color splash up to beckon memory.
And I see you gape at me and laugh
at a pool in Hot Springs, South Dakota,
ten years ago on a family vacation.
Two grown women, two sisters,
who see each other maybe once a year,
have bought the same gaudy pattern
in humdrum malls a thousand miles apart.
Together, we slip into warm, bubbling
water in our wild-hued swimsuits.
Years of matching winter coats, hand-me-
down uniforms, Christmas nightgowns,
Easter dresses and JC Penney saddle shoes
have fused our taste and style into one.
So I save this piece of nylon and Lycra
beneath the everyday folds of life
as a reminder of who we once were
and how much we hated dressing alike,
and how a day can hold its breath, dive
deep into memory and splash turquoise.