“Confirmation” by Tim Dyson

When Momma wore slacks
tan linen and white silk
blouse, swept back
auburn hair full
of Virginia sun
all things seemed fresh
like the Jean Nate
or the grilled onions
on lunch counters
or new shirts
crisp as confirmation

I walked next to a princess
passing the housedress
ladies, the half stockinged
guardians of low
expectations, steering
their carts away
from the makeup case
the lingerie mannequins
talked among themselves