It's Still Life

MuuMuu Nights

It was my mother’s nature,
like a thread’s nature is in
the eye of a needle, that a
summer night meant a muumuu
instead of pyjamas. Hides
the heat. Hides a sticky back,
that sheen of sweat bubblin’ up
against the softness in
cotton. It lets the
sea breeze into your hollows.
My muumuu was green and
red tartan. Cool as rolled smokes,
I thought, Natalie-Wood-like.
But that was then, back when a
girl’s knees stayed tight as winter,
and brushes swept out our chimney.

A Gold Shovel for Miz Quickly. Excerpt from “August Morning Fog” by Barbara Yates Young

Nature in a mumu hides
back up in the hollows
and smokes like a
winter chimney