I.

Mom grimaces at my figure in the purple dress
I had ordered. I say it is what 
every college girl wears.
The dress had spaghetti straps and 
If I was cold enough
I could see my breasts
poking hard through the fabric. 
I stood proudly. 
It was not often that I felt like a woman. 

She kept her jewelry armoire on her dresser;
amalgam of pasta shell and 
bead necklaces, ones with topaz stone
and pearl. Souvenir pins and
extra shirt buttons, endearments from 
prior suitors. 
Ziploc bag with tuft of dog hair. 

II.

Sitting in some low-lit bar
The swarthy eye croons like
velvet
Hold a wine glass like a warm cigarette
tilting the bowled weight between the finger bones
Purse-lipped sip bitter swirl over tongue
Until mouth is soft as sand.