What if the town of Mayberry wasn’t
Exactly “white”?
Some of it would be of course
But what if most was “not quite?”
And whom?
They all look the same.
The same arms.
The same hands.
Creamy, milky blanched and not exactly pink even in soapy dishwater.

It does explain why there aren’t really any children.
That would give one away
That tawny skin
That curious hair and inky eyes

Aunt Bea, her nose is a little wide perhaps and yet...
Well Sheriff Andy sure can sing and his hair has just the slightest suggestion of a wave.
Otis’s lips are full and plump.
His face is round not square.
He is the most unassuming and
gentlemanly of criminals.
He locks himself up at night when it’s called for.
Sshhh
Is this why everyone is so frozen?
Not one foot put wrong even
in a solemn country way?

The secret getting out?
People wouldn’t understand.
And they’re out there far off by a stream
There could be trouble
And who’s who?
And who’s what?

We sit and watch the glow of quiet spectacle.
The pantomime of the solicitude.
The church raffle.
The apple pie.
The charade where no one knows the answer
If you were uninitiated maybe you would never know.
Imagine the stillness.

Now Opie you stay out of the sun!
But Pa!
I mean it. Now go do as you’re told and get ready for supper.
Oh alright.

They sit quietly around the table
Drinking iced tea and smiling
Nothing’s moving.
You sure know how make a fine piece of
Pie Aunt Bea!
Oh Andy!
No elbows on the table.
Why yes Sir.
Why no Ma’am.

Look, my hair is blond
And my eyes are a funny golden brown
I have a lot of freckles and when it rains
my hair does not know what to do
I wear it in a long braid down my back, tight
Someday I’ll meet a nice blond man and he’ll take me away from here.
I’ll stay out of the sun most days and our children
will be perfect.

Hello? (Hands waving to no one)
Hey!
I’m back!
I got a little delayed (pointing at my watch that I don’t wear)
I know it’s been awhile
I got here as fast as I could
There was no one at the airport

Hello?
It’s me!
You would not believe what happened!
I mean really!
Have I got a tale to tell!


Hello!
Hi everybody!
Hello?
I just got back. I gotta lay down.

So what’s everybody doing?

Naples yellow
Prussian blue
Burnt umber
Cadmium Red Deep
Napthol Red
Quinacridone
Phtalocionine Blue and Green
Portrait Pink Light
Yellow Oxide
Raw Sienna

Can you make a painting without these?

A movie star died a day or two ago
She was 97.
She would to say hello to my mother
At evening musicals full of teenaged boys
that I lusted after years ago
She would wave and smile with sparkling eyes
I’d look at mother
“Why?”
Amused, she would say softly
“I don’t know!”
We would giggle together
A rare event

Mother was no chorine
nor wardrobe mistress
She did not peak in the 50s
She did not dance with her husband
under the moon at the Bel Air Bay Club
Her daughter did not write a pop song that oddly charted
She did not struggle to remain in the public’s imagination
They had nothing in common but perhaps a lovely face and a skill at survival
Mom could make her husband move her closer to Johnny on the dance floor.
Whichever direction, Dad obliged.

They locked down that school today
Warned by a rifle in a photo
Of an unstable football pro

These women are dead now
so none’s the wiser
“When you’re a victim of bullying, an option is revenge." said the alumna.
“Just a precaution,” replied the school.

Mother would have been 97 this year as well.
Maybe they’ve met again,
two streaks of illuminated emptiness
Engaging with reservations
Over fitting in and going insane
Over the low self-regard in a champion
or
Being lost at sea.

Crinoline filaments
Rolling over and over
Mid-flight the ochre velvet ribbons sailed to the left
Instead of to the right
Two feet retreating
But with one shoe on

Memory returns
For a few seconds of
the calamity
At that private house in Paris
She’d tumbled down the central staircase
Sailing with legs overhead
until she stopped miraculously with her ***
at the shining leather toes of the footman.
He kept his head up.
She wore a beautiful dress.
Her hair was quite precise and she hoped that that would be a sufficient enough apology towards an empty silence.

But this isn’t that.
I shoved her.
And she went willingly. They all do.
We’re roughly a group of fifty-three.

Gathering in the last few years
Whispering over drinks
of tumors
And vascular difficulties
Of pills and appointments and forgetfulness
They never mentioned that
In those climate controlled rooms with
Blackboards covered in Latin and Trigonometry
Of the body’s failure.
Now there’s no longer any mention made of the kids
or whether or not that husband was worth the bother

Did we notice atop
The balance beam not a peep was mentioned
About the moment when you can no longer walk or stand?
That the brain asks please but the body will not comply?
How cool the marbled floor feels against your cheek while you lay for hours in your own feces?
One can rest comfortably knowing at long last that that wallpaper was the right choice.
Kept one really engaged while waiting and waiting for someone.
And that is just the beginning, right?

Perhaps some assumed that the end would come with a daily circle reviewing the contents of their chamber ***
Grimacing and worn
While they recline in white nightclothes
Something akin to what they saw on the BBC

Perhaps a startled disquiet at the rebuke of their intent and gamely stares from a premiere specialist in Switzerland
an expert in alternative therapies
for what someone dared call
terminal
Anyway, this is quicker.

So we’ve come together
As sisters
And when the time is right I get the call
We go onto the roof
There’s an elevator now because
Otherwise that wouldn’t work
And one by one
In small batches
They are dispatched
It doesn’t take as long as you would think
We are confident and have agency
We were taught that we could do anything
And they are right.

The ones with a lot of metal can be a bit tricky
They have balance issues
But are always chic and always polite
There was a time when we were forced to be together when we clearly did not want to.
We never thought as one.
Some families are better than others.
But everything is different now

One day it will be my turn and
I wonder who will deliver me?
And what shall I wear?
Will I try to see where I’m going or will I rest comfortably in my finale.

I adore the way the wind catches the cloth.
How the crystalline beads are removed around the neck and handed over
so as not to add to any distraction
Or delay
The pinky coral mouthed “Thank you” and
And the sweet eyes that once were bright and shining say their
Goodbyes
Rippling
twirling
looping
interweaving
cascading
Down.