after growing my hair out for six months,
I chose a vintage Hermes scarf to tie it back
in the Vogue model style I wore when
she first fell in love with me.
I squeezed into a Saks Fifth Avenue label outfit
from the early 70’s that she’d packed away.
I applied Germaine Monteil makeup coaxed
from half-a-century old tin foil samples.
I selected a pair of Trifari, love-knot,
clip-on earrings that haven’t seen daylight
for five decades.
Neither had the ecru garter belt and bare beige nylons
I slipped into with less ease.
Finally, I splashed just a hint of Shalimar
to the nape of my neck.
she asked me to make an appointment
to get my hair cut.
She returned the outfit, scarf, garter belt and nylons
to the memento place at the bottom of
our 19th century humpback trunk.
She mentioned she missed the emerald studs
I’ve worn daily in my earlobes for thirteen years.
She sprayed Shout on the Germaine Monteil
makeup stained washcloth.
And … let me think …
Oh! … yes.
She wrote “Shalimar”
on her holiday shopping list.
# # #
Marguerite Quantaine is an essayist and novelist
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