From the 2017 edition, Altadena Poetry Review, paperback
This is my mother, smiling, even though she hates to have her picture taken. She's standing between her two daughters on the deep grass of her mother's house, her golden hair swept into Grace Kelly chignon, dressed in navy and white with matching spectator shoes. Always the classics, she says, they never go out of style. Here's my sister, poised, posing, right foot ahead of the left, the way the models stand, she says. We wear matching wide-brim hats, Bermuda shorts, sleeveless cotton blouses, uniforms of our era. It's happy row of three smiling females, one proud mother, two teengers on a day of civility. Soon, the woman who loves us will be dead, leaving us unable to embrace over an unfillable void.