"Summer Memories: Escapades of the Scantily Clad"
by Meghan Pedersen
Dancing through bucketfuls of sticky sweet
water speckled with kernels of gold
inspires Liz and I to toss our underwear to the sky
where they stick and flutter,
flags of freedom.
Or another day, “Swimming Lizard” and I,
with brown bands and goose feathers around our heads,
clad in white loin cloths,
prance through the house,
the tails of our horses
leaving their mark
on every corner.
And during these summer months,
Dad comes home early enough to give us a bath;
after, we squirm our slick bodies
free of the towel and rush to slip on only
our sparkly church shoes with tiny heels
that clackety clack
as we shimmy across the linoleum
for Mom and the camera.
The sticky days slide into muggy nights
so we all—Liz, Mom, Dad, even Baby Kyle, and I—
sleep on the first floor in our underwear,
sheets pushed to the side,
bellies pressed to the worn carpet
while the delicious sweep of the fan tickles our bare backs.
Our steamy house embarrasses Mom
when my aunt flies home from cool California,
though she understands, this was once her home too.
50 plus and beautiful, with black hair and crimson lips,
she talks of art, lovers, and PETA to my six-year-old self
while she changes from linen to cotton,
surprising me with her fullness
because my mother looks like us,
all bones and nipples.
I can count Mom’s ribs or freckles
while she sweeps her lashes with a dark wand
in nothing but her underwear
until the last possible moment
then and now utterly comfortable,
embracing the freedom of near nakedness.