three sets of withered, wrinkly hands
with chipped
tired
pale-pink nailpolish
flutter in the air,
describing.

three froofy perms
one browny-gray
one white
one salt and pepper
bob
jutting forward,
one
wobbles a little.

Grandma wears
a green-foam party hat
with a thin, white elastic band
that runs under her wrinkled chin
it sits atop her fuzzy perm
comically...
she smiles
at me.

"Ah! my cappuccino! you remembered i like it, didn't you?"
she chucks her great-granddaughter
under the chin,
grins
"oohh! look at these gardening gloves! Cidi! look at these gloves! i like the green ones."
she hands them to her white-haired sister
aunt cidi told me
this year she is
ninety-one
oh, and the gloves were really
blue.

aunt cidi
misses uncle harland
he was buried three or four years ago
in his uniform
i remember sitting next to him
at awkward family reunions
eating hotdogs
i never saw so much mustard
in my life
he could never hear me
when i tried to talk to him
but he smiled
anyway.

the talk turns serious
suddenly
over our black coffee
crossed legs
sweaters
and chocolate cake
grandma turns grim
in her lime-green party hat
"did you end up killing that trumpet vine in your yard, Jeanie?"
aunt jeanie's head wobbles a bit
she squints
wrinkles her nose
"i TRIED to!"
she scowls.

schemes of ******
plotted by three chunky-earringed
sweet
old ladies
who are a little late
for the 1940's
but never too late
for a handsome
soldier
"we're older..."
says aunt jeanie
"but not THAT old!"
they all
giggle.