For Frankie

I have a real early recollection 
that smells like Aquanetand Marlboro Lights. 
My two aunts have got me 
standing balanced on the toilet lid
in ruffled socks,
in front of a mirror framed
by fake plastic bamboo.
I was wearing a dress I can’t remember.
Their excited conversation escapes me too.
They chirped like birds and flitted around me
each one armed with a curling iron,
turning me from a real girl

into a chubby cheeked, blue eyed babydoll.
I knew a man was coming.
And that the grown ups said
the stranger was my father, but maybe
not my Dad.
One of my earliest memories
is how handsome he turned out to be,
blue eyes sparkling and a smile that flashed.
And how Mommy folded her arms across
her typically generous chest
and looked mad like that smile
couldn’t phase her.
I remember how I hid behind
the curtain of her wide legged jeans,
when he reached for me
so familiarly. 
I remember I didn’t cry.