In the 50s, Aunt Elena wore printed skirts
that hid the skyline of London
& the rocks of California
& the palm trees of Havana
in flowing folds of blue & pink.

She wore starched white shirts
that fell off her shoulders
& showed off her tan skin
& tended to end up wrinkled
by the time she said goodnight.

But her mother was always too
safe in bed to notice.
And her father too
sad to care.

In her 50s, Aunt Elena regretted
saying goodnight,
& eventually goodbye
& never 'I love you'
to the cigar roller she met in Florida.

She regretted her marriage to a man
who her brother worked with at AT&T,
& who never loved her skirts
& who never kissed her shoulders
all the time they shared a bed.

But she was already married
five years with two kids
before she knew what he was.
And what love wasn�t.