Watching Mamma Apply Lipstick

A poem inspired by a childhood memory

I goggle at the looking glass,
kid elbows out like I’m in class
observing mamma click and twist
her lipstick case with soft cream wrist,
and neatly write her royal red os,
a biting heart of lipstick prose.

I puff in perfumed powder pots
of pink pressed chalk and pansy drops
as mamma’s strands of sprinkles chink
around her neck. Two dolls, we prink
with sippica pippica. Pucker and kiss
a wet jelly bean for big, red lips!

The scent of violet is reminiscent of cosmetics — soft, powdery, and sweet. All it takes is a squirt of pansy, and I’m a little girl again, watching my mother apply make-up at her vanity. She painted her mouth with fantastic colours like fire-engine red and tangy orange. And, although I couldn’t quite pronounce lipstick — sippica pippica (!), I’d scrawl sticky rings around my mouth with a wet jelly bean in imitation.

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