Kristin is Beautiful
in a way I imagine my mother was in her 20s.
Her hair is so black it shines blue.
I am on my third Miller Light at Mitzel’s,
next to the hotel where we sleep.
We are learning how to teach I statements,
to ask: who what when where, before teens go out,
and the musts of the family meeting.
Kristin is a Pisces; she drinks chardonnay.
Her dad is a doctor, an expert on the heart.
I tell her I now love a man like I never thought I would
when my marriage flopped in my 24th year.
She says if I need a wedding dress she has an extra,
it is tight down the thigh but flares at the calf.
If she grew up in my town she would have lived
in Glen Eagle. In the evenings the families sat around
big-screen TVs in clean living rooms.
I watched them from my neighbor’s station wagon
while she delivered Avon. I would have ridden with her all night
just to see what normal looked like through panes of glass.
was first in Poet Lore