Magic Wig

This feisty girl

Lives down the block

Her pure stubborn fire

A perfect character foil

To my son’s easy river flow

Here everyday, in my house

Always eating my apples

she has become family

She asked me to braid her hair

I’m not well practiced

But I gave my best effort

Wobbly ropes crowning

Her charming countenance

As we laughed

She asked me about wigs

Forgotten until today’s conjuring

I remembered my aunt Carol

Frail of body but full of

Fiery spirit

Elegant and poised

She had beautiful ankles

A weird thing to say

But a sharp memory nonetheless

Tasteful wigs adorned her balding head

In defiance of Death

Crooking its finger

Flowing skirts, silk scarves

Red lipstick in a gold case

My mind conjures now

The faint whiff of roses

When I was three, I lived downstairs

As soon as I awoke I would scramble up

To her second floor apartment

Imagine velvet and satin

Tropical plants in profusion

Around a modest piano

Knowing that I adored my cats

She composed a song

For me to practice

“Max and Joey, Joey and Max

We do like, the way they act”

Three notes; joyful trill

Skipping across the keys

She would braid my riotous curls

Tightly woven strands framed

My anomalous visage

Three generations of women

Chosen kin

Ninety pounds of wispy waif

She was our white knight

A soft place to land

Between life’s cruel touches

At her funeral

I held my mama’s hand

Crying bitter tears

For the loss of a great mother

The Aunt Distribution System

Bequeathed by the universe

Three is

A magic number