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Confession: when the fire alarm went off in the hotel
I grabbed my wallet and laptop
and pulled my raincoat on over my nightgown
but I also hastily combed my hair
and swiped on some lipstick.
I'm the woman at the all-female retreat
who puts on mascara for a hike in the woods.
It's not that I can't stand my naked face
but presentation counts, and old habits persist.
Maybe it's my Southern roots
though by Southern girly standards
I'm underdressed, un-made up,
certainly insufficiently bejeweled
and accessorized.
I admire how vanity falls away
from some wise, aging women
but I don't see it happening to me.
When I'm ninety I'll still flirt
with cabdrivers and my doctor,
and be the wily rebel
who smuggles a robe
into the nudist resort.
From Be Careful What You Wish For (Moonpie Press, 2003)
© by Alice N. Persons
Used with the author's permission.
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Alice N. Persons is the editor and publisher of Moon Pie Press, established in 2003, which publishes work by poets from all over the country and now has 127 books in its catalog. Author of five collections herself, Alice lives in Westbrook, Maine with three cats and a dog, all rescues, and serves on the board of the Animal Refuge League of Greater Portland. Alice loves painting, holidays, travel, baking, and Maine in all seasons.
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joecot:
Just discovered this wonderful poem 6 years after publication here. Let me say: Lovely poem. In its truth, you drop the makeup -- and the robe.
Posted 12/14/2016 12:52 PM
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