Make-Up

Mother never wore make-up. 

I guess it was a Nazarene thing —

a no dancing, no movies,  no drinking, no smoking, no PDA —

well most of the fundamentally forbidden. 

Maybe it was from the depression experience;

the expense of it. Maybe it was just Father

clamping down. Or the day-to-day

existence of kids & garden & fixing meals

ready at the appointed time. 

What purpose would make-up serve?

It would roll off and mix with the sweat

of daily toil adding a confusion to

a direct purpose driven existence. 

I would play with the things on her dresser.

Touch each object she preserved 

in its wooden drawers. 

She had silk handkerchiefs emitting

the delicate scents of flowery perfume. 

In the Baptist church she would make them into

fragrant churches, steeples and all the people

to entertain me for a while.

There were glittering pins for her dresses,

long dangerous looking hat pins, necklaces

of the various type lying in crystal glass 

containers (or was that just the straight & safety pins)

— just in the drawer ready as for daily use 

— for the next club luncheon!

A small black lacquered (corean? japanese?)

music box sat on top and when opened

played a song I do not remember.

Was this from one of her brothers that

served in corea? Where did it come from?

Maybe there were scarves that felt silky

in those drawers? I would put them around

my head — and they smelled like hairspray

and mother’s hair.

I would open each rouge & powder & lipstick

twisting each in turn like an orangescicle though

I don’t remember making the step to actual application!

She must have known of these explorations,

but never was there an objection or reproof. 

I put everything back and I think

wondered at their purpose and power. 

Was there some fantasy or release

from today’s repetitions. I don’t really

know. She might not herself. 

Did it cover some ache or wound

of which I think there were many?

Did it take her into a better world

if only until the slippers broke and

the carriage was made into pie?

Oh, but then she would

from time to time,

and her face would light up. 

She would glow not with the forbidden,

but with the result. It seemed

to me to change her; 

the very way she carried herself 

out into the world.

And out she would go as if not caring

or knowing that tomorrow would

be just as yesterday. 

East Lansing

August 17, 2010

Greenfield Series

©2010 Make-Up — Joseph W. Yarbrough

Reproduction prohibited without written permission.