your fingers smell like
your olivetti, linoleum,
a leatherette and red felt
4-drink travel bar,
aluminum, lock and key

are you the only woman
who sits down to a dinner
of your-dad-is-laid-off spaghetti,
wonder bread folded over butter
in a 2-strand turquoise necklace?

just past 7 pm,
watery mint green comb,
your fingerprints are pin curls,
paper patterns, needle & thread,
soft bias tape, cool poplin

in morning, your voice
opens like an egg
on the back of a high heel shoe,
rises like the hem of our skirts
into ourselves with awe