ronb@tekgds.UUCP (Ron Blair) (10/01/83)
Aunt Lois
She was the only one who would take us to the State Fair.
Bark colored hair smashed by her purple-plummed hat was
A beacon of love that drew us back but let us go
From the cotton candy treats to the dizzying carrousel.
Her gait was a lumber to darting, sparkling imps.
It was not that she limped as much
As her step happened mostly in her left knee
Restricted by mores demanding nothing less than a dress.
A red pumpkin face kept somber blue eyes
Conflicting with a broad open smile.
Her nose melted into rouged puffy cheeks
Anchored by a chin like a used red brick.
I remember her voice having a whistling sound
As if the culture frowned on deep female breaths.
The more forceful voices were reserved for men;
Women were strong but proper and thin, and quiet.
Her laughter was clear and sincere but had no echo to hear.
It must have been dampened by fear or pain but
Though I registered this, I set it aside to ride
The rides and feel the piercing joy of the day in the air.
The clothes she wore held a mothering smell
Telling of biscuits and blankets, and tomatoes she grows.
I think my nose alone could have found her warmth
To rest in her lap and laugh at her hat.
Endurance was the feeling seeping through her being.
The stories told of hunger and cold, and beatings from
Inebriated sinners she would never speak of.
Certainly not to me, there at the yearly State Fair.
Ron Blair
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