Long Light

It's late. I've been sitting out front enjoying the long light, watching the sky slowly ease into night. In the stillness, memories bubble up freely; like fireflies, appearing, disappearing. Night's magicians.

This tiny window opened for me tonight:

Mom and I are in the elevator of the 14th Street apartment in NYC. She is dressed in a skirt, maroon pumps, a blazer? Her hair is permed. She is holding her handbag in front of her body.

I am wearing a patchwork skirt [I loved that skirt!] that falls to my ankles, a shirt sans bra, tawny-colored Frye boots. My hair is long and pin straight. A backpack is slung over my shoulder.

We are facing the elevator doors, not speaking and then, we glance over at each other and burst out laughing. Or maybe shake our heads? Either way, a good moment.