Pretty girl of the 70s, fully inhabited in bell bottoms and t-shirts, eyes like grandmas. I was always trying to be where you were.
But I was the smallest of the cousins, four years younger, awkward in the face of country glamour; and the click-clack social order left me on my own sometimes in the weeds walking circles in the hard yellow grass around the Roy house.
Those summers were pretty borrowed dresses for the anniversaries of aunts, the Ladd girls walking dirt patches between the houses to the church, riding the yellow truck into the prairie, the sound of wind through our hair like a song.
It was a beautiful piece of time as they go.
At the end of the decade you were on the cusp of boys and we sat on my brother’s trundle bed waiting for your favorite songs on the radio, which were Rupert Holmes and Cliff Richard. We were trying to bounce to the disco beats of Richard, who wasn’t counting sheep or losing sleep. This was the last time I followed you around like a puppy, before I became reserved and self-conscious about too much love in myself.
And the next time I saw you it wasn’t so funny, but we didn’t talk anymore.
These poems for NaPoWriMo were inspired by a poem I did years ago for my friend Michelle after hearing she passed away, 30 poems for inspiring women connected to me. The title now says "33 Women" because the poem to Michelle poem had already been written as well as two prologues I posted March 31.
See Erin here! http://www.marymccray.com/33-women.html#erin