There is nothing like the soothing quiet

of morning sun shining on my old lady’s

lacy white diaphanous things draped over

a century-old Boston rocker, snuff-brown

burnished spindles ready to cradle her well

preserved curvaceous body.

I wait for her to emerge from the shower

looking almost brand-new wearing

Capezios from her vast collection

of fashionable pumps and Warhol

designed pointy high-heeled shoes,

even Imelda would envy.

As the redolent aroma of percolating

Colombian coffee permeates our home

she dances gracefully, improvising

to the melodic rhythm and counterpoint

of “ Souvenirs of Rimini,” which I’m

listening to.

“You ought to be in pictures,” I say

as she sashays to her favorite rocking

chair as deftly as our treasured black

Burmese cat.

Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia, N.J.