Nancy Bo Flood
“Remembering the angst of teen years”
Taffeta, maybe a pale shade of pink or amethyst. Sounds shimmery and sophisticated. Taffeta that rustles — swish — as I walk. And, strapless. But how would I make sure my dress stays up? Elmer’s glue? Cleavage? I don’t have any.
Prom dress. But, I’ve run into a big problem. Mom and I went shopping and now she says, “They’re all so expensive. I will sew you one.”
Prom dress. My dream is I will slowly swish down a winding staircase wearing a store-bought, lots of crinkly-layers dress. Is it wrong to want a real formal, a store-bought dress? Just once, senior year! All I know is a stone sits cold in my stomach. All the pretty girls will be wearing fancy formals, real ones, from one of the big department stores, like Marshall Fields, on State Street in downtown Chicago. My dress will be homemade. “Modest.” With straps.
For just one night, like Cinderella, I want to be like them. The popular girls. The ones who never have to ride the bus to school and they wear straight skirts, tight ones and matching cashmere sweaters, bras stuffed with socks.
Boys pretend not to stare at them. I pretend not to notice, not to care.
Cinderella had a fairy godmother. If only I had one. I wish I still believed in magic.
In Memory of Tina
By Jeanne Souldern
If, when you die, there is a life review, I hope this moment makes the cut.
Haikus from Scotland
By Kitty Riley
Mix of old and new
Glass buildings facing sandstones
Showers and sunshine
White lambs on green hills
Peaks of snow a ways beyond
Crows flying above
The shore curves against
The sea, shades of blue reflect
Notes of busking pipes
River murmurs by
Ring of trees, ancient ones stood
In this place once too