would visit her in the nice trailer park.
the one down the way where the road
and my sister flew out the window of the VW Bug and broke her back.
Mimi was across from the fancy restaurant, El Nido. More or less.
a railyard of the lost, the trailers lined up herringboned on either
side of the dirt drive-in area, garden chairs on patches of
fetishist, grandmother grass. Lawn
animals, plaster greeters frozen in glee.
trailer was white with pale pink trim and a double banging screen
door. Up the three steps into her arms then onto the couch with your
favorite drink and hand-wrapped fudge with nuts and marshmallows.
Or TV mix, buttery pretzels and salty breakfast cereal. And
she a Sidecar or a Highball.
she drank. Who wouldn't?
Dumped off. Alone.
jingled with a full bracelet of silver discs, the names of each
grandchild on each full moon of her love, sounded the
of your existence with every adoring move.
don't remember any small spaces in her trailer. Just room everywhere
for me, for my siblings. A
shrine to her sons and their progeny. Her incense: White Shoulders,
My Sin and Chanel No.5.
had been a dancer. In the '20s.
Now her legs were covered in psoriasis and she kept them
hidden under hose or trousers.
sad heart sometimes takes walks down her lane.
I walk into 1971 before she started to grow the cancer.
I ask her to show me how to make those sour cream potatoes.
Then she gives me dancing lessons.
will never be loved like that again.