Sunday, September 29, 2019


How we hated Lamonts,
my aunt and I,
as her sister—my mother,
her mother—my grandma,
shopped and tried
on somebody else’s
soon-to-be clothes.

It was the smell,
we said,
or the way
it made us feel

or defined
by dress or bra or shoe.

And leave to breathe,
fairly sprinting to her car,

in search of that bright patch of sky
that agreed
we were already enough.

© 2019 Jennifer Wagner