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.