Snow
Lost in an infinity of misted mirrors
among shelves of Optrex,
Pepsodent and pink calamine,
I dunked net petticoats into sugar solution
to froth out the nylon frills of that
first dance dress.
Hanging it to drip-dry over
the porcelain sink I squeezed
obdurate adolescent flesh
into a rubber roll-on that chaffed my thighs,
attaching 15 deniers
to silk suspenders,
before turning to straighten
the wayward seam along
a newly shaved leg and wriggle
into my strapless Wonderbra.
Then spitting into the little
Bakelite box to soften the black wax,
a flick of mascara
applied with a tiny brush.
Backcombing my hair, the lady
on the Elnett tin of hairspray
smiled with a poise
I could never muster.
So much preparation
to end alone
beneath the rotating mirror-ball,
as the last waltz faded
and flakes of light spangled
my bare arms in falling snow.
.
by Sue Hubbard
from Ink Sweat and Tears