Arriving at the community theater,
for a memorial production.
Childhood friends, sisters,
standing off to the side.
It’s their mother we’re here for.
Walking up, immediate
tears and long embracing.
Wandering the familiar ROUTE
of this moment, then the catching
up, and slowly sliding way back.
Back to days of a baby oil BROIL,
sequins sewed on leotards-
costumes for dining room shows,
playing Charlie’s Angels,
dancing the funky chicken
with a CROWN askew.
We three reminiscing, secluded
subgroup of a lager CROWD.

Heather