Those knees touched the edge of my skirt
That one my mother made with elastic
And an embroidered trim in blue gabardine
They were pre -adolescent,
Bony and sculptured ******* sticks.

My hair fringed like a Rosebud doll
Bent under my mother’s wet fingers
To make it turn so to clip eyebrows
The rest lay like golden fleece on back
Of the broderie anglaise white blouse.

At eleven my underwear was still cotton
And socks white on Mary Jane shoes
I said little and hugged my many dolls
Loved best to stroke our black and white cat
And roll about to the sound of The Beatles.

Love Mary