Memory Bank:
My mother sewed
a pale green cotton dress, with gathered skirt,
embellished with rows of
bric a brac, tiny yellow flowers on ropes of white.
She crowned me with a ring of flowers.
One of the few times I felt beautiful.

I carried a hoop and
danced the May Pole.
My parents
sat in a row somewhere in the
crowd.

The work and practice had
made no sense to me, but dancing in a field of
colour,
flowers,
music and decorated poles
filled me with excitement and awe.
I remember feeling like more an observer
than a participant.

The sweet smell of blossoms
wafts up through the upstairs windows.
May.