As a child
my dolls and I smoked fake cigarettes
like you did
Because I loved the way you looked
when you'd tilt your head and coolly
exhale the smoke
Like you were releasing spirits into the air
I thought when you dyed your hair red
that you looked so glamorous
I envied the way it always curled just so,
and when I was small you were never without lipstick
Applied more painstakingly than my clumsy hands could manage
As I grew older you wore lipstick less, but your brazen
laugh and the careless tilt of your head were still the same.
You let me stay up late watching shows my parents wouldn't allow
and bought my favorite junk food. I knew sleepover nights meant
no bedtime, endless rounds of Skip-Bo in your smoky kitchen,
and sharing chocolate Long Johns on Saturday morning
As a woman I could always count on you to listen to me, and more than that
You'd insult someone you didn't even know if it meant you
were standing up for me When I got divorced you told me,
"Welcome to the club!"
You saw my first tattoo and said to mom,
"Well, at least it's pretty, Kelli."
After fighting with my sister you picked me up, and got me cigarettes to smoke
while we drove around talking because you missed the way they smelled.
I still think of you laughing and breathing smoke into the air when I smell them now.
So many things in life are touched by you-- Zero candy bars, tabloid magazines,
plates with the faces of British Royalty, the plastic wrapped white mints I'd find in your purse,
(but never once saw you buy)
the smell of Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds and baby powder.
You're everywhere and in everything
In decks of cards and cheap romance novels
In fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and the chuck wagon sandwiches from
Willis' old gas station
And the memories of you may sting my eyes like smoke
But even still, I'm glad you're there.