Aunt Augusta had your attention right away.
Usually she was dressed to the hilt in hot pink
with matching lipstick, rouge, shoes, a hat,
wide brimmed to match her style, and gloves,
of course.
Color reminded her of joy and passion,
but I didn't see where she lacked either.

A toothy mouth grinned knowledge,
coke bottled lensed eyeglasses
magnified prospective,
gnarled fingers smoothed
to hold a puppy or a hand.
Her back bent forward from leaning into hugs;
her spirit was high and all of this showed
over chocolate milkshakes and good chili.
She reveled in attention,
mesmerizing everyone who came
within eyesight or earshot.
Never married because she was
having too much fun to stop.

"I am a bag of jitters,"
she told me about her shakiness,
"gave up beer for lent.
It's the whiskey that makes me what I am,"
but I knew that twinkle in her eye.

Told me that I should never grow old, just up,
laughter is the cure-all, and to play forever.

She was ninety-two when she died last week.
There wasn't a dry eye anywhere--
although, I had to laugh thinking
about what Heaven was in for.

2001 Margaret Ellis Hill
(All Rights Reserved)
Back to Index